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HAUNTED GROUND.
57
And these are of the things
That God hath taken from me, safe ,to keep;
Sometimes to let me look on them, He brings
Them to me in my sleep;

And I have been in sleep
So oft among them, now their aspect seems
The vague soft glow evanishing, to keep,
Of half-remembered dreams.

Thou shouldst have been with me
Of old, dear friend, as now! and borne a part
In all that was—then Life were filled with thee
As wholly as the Heart!

Then hadst thou won mine eyes
My soul to look through; half it augers me
To think a sweetness on the years can rise
That is not mixed with Thee!

Yet stoop with me to trace
These olden records, overrun with bloom;
The Dead are underneath, and yet the place
Looks hardly like a tomb.

This is the wood-walk; oft
I feel a clasp detaining—not the fold
Of clinging bindweed—far more close and soft,
For here in days of old