How beautiful it was, that one bright day
       &nbsp In the long week of rain!
Though all its splendor could not chase away
       &nbsp The omnipresent pain.

The lovely town was white with apple-blooms,
       &nbsp And the great elms o'erhead
Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms
       &nbsp Shot through with golden thread.

Across the meadows, by the gray old manse,
       &nbsp The historic river flowed:
I was as one who wanders in a trance,
       &nbsp Unconscious of his road.

The faces of familiar friends seemed strange;
       &nbsp Their voices I could hear,
And yet the words they uttered seemed to change
       &nbsp Their meaning to my ear.

For the one face I looked for was not there,
       &nbsp The one low voice was mute;
Only an unseen presence filled the air,
       &nbsp And baffled my pursuit.

Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream
       &nbsp Dimly my thought defines;
I only see—a dream within a dream—
       &nbsp The hill-top hearsed with pines.

I only hear above his place of rest
       &nbsp Their tender undertone,
The infinite longings of a troubled breast,
       &nbsp The voice so like his own.

There in seclusion and remote from men
       &nbsp The wizard hand lies cold,
Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen,
       &nbsp And left the tale half told.

Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power,
       &nbsp And the lost clew regain?
The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower
       &nbsp Unfinished must remain!