I

The awful shadow of some unseen Power

Floats though unseen among us,—visiting

This various world with as inconstant wing

As summer winds that creep from flower to flower,—

Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower,

It visits with inconstant glance

Each human heart and countenance;

Like hues and harmonies of evening,—

Like clouds in starlight widely spread,—

Like memory of music fled,—

Like aught that for its grace may be

Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.