Grieve not for the invisible, transported brow
On which like leaves the dark hair grew,
Nor for the lips of laughter that are now
Laughing inaudibly in sun and dew,
Nor for those limbs, that, fallen low
And seeming faint and slow,
Shall soon
Discover and renew
Their shape and hue--
Like birches varying white before the moon
Or a wild cherry-bough
In spring or the round sea--
And shall pursue
More ways of swiftness than the swallow dips
Among, and find more winds than ever blew
To haven the straining sails of unimpeded ships.
