enson, even in his darkest moments, he here goes beyond the pessimism of the other poem, and lets his fancy stray into more hopeful fields of memory.
The verses are a first and never-to-be perfected draft, and their incompletion affords an added testimony of the unstrung condition of the poet's mind.
ALL NIGHT THROUGH, RAVES OR BROODS
All night through, raves or broods
The fitful wind among the woods;
All night through, hark! the rain
Beats upon the window pane.
And still my heart is far away,
Still dwells in many a bygone day,
And still follows hope with [rainbow wing]
Adown the golden ways of spring.
In many a wood my fancy strays,
In many unforgotten Mays,
And still I feel the wandering—
[Manuscript breaks off here.]
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