Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, <br /> So loud with voices of the birds, <br /> So thick with lowings of the herds, <br /> Day, when I lost the flower of men; <br /> Who tremblest thro' thy darkling red <br /> On yon swoll'n brook that bubbles fast <br /> By meadows breathing of the past, <br /> And woodlands holy to the dead; <br /> Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves <br /> A song that slights the coming care, <br /> And Autumn laying here and there <br /> A fiery finger on the leaves; <br /> <br /> Who wakenest with thy balmy breath <br /> To myriads on the genial earth, <br /> Memories of bridal, or of birth, <br /> And unto myriads more, of death. <br /> <br /> O wheresoever those may be, <br /> Betwixt the slumber of the poles, <br /> To-day they count as kindred souls; <br /> They know me not, but mourn with me.<br /><br />Alfred Lord Tennyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-memoriam-a-h-h-99-risest-thou-thus-dim-dawn-a/
