Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then,
While I rose up against my doom,
And yearn’d to burst the folded gloom,
To bare the eternal Heavens again,


To feel once more, in placid awe,
The strong imagination roll
A sphere of stars about my soul,
In all her motion one with law;


If thou wert with me, and the grave
Divide us not, be with me now,
And enter in at breast and brow,
Till all my blood, a fuller wave,


Be quicken’d with a livelier breath,
And like an inconsiderate boy,
As in the former flash of joy,
I slip the thoughts of life and death;


And all the breeze of Fancy blows,
And every dew-drop paints a bow,
The wizard lightnings deeply glow,
And every thought breaks out a rose.

Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then,
While I rose up against my doom,
And yearn’d to burst the folded gloom,
To bare the eternal Heavens again,

To feel once more, in placid awe,
The strong imagination roll
A sphere of stars about my soul,
In all her motion one with law;

If thou wert with me, and the grave
Divide us not, be with me now,
And enter in at breast and brow,
Till all my blood, a fuller wave,

Be quicken’d with a livelier breath,
And like an inconsiderate boy,
As in the former flash of joy,
I slip the thoughts of life and death;

And all the breeze of Fancy blows,
And every dew-drop paints a bow,
The wizard lightnings deeply glow,
And every thought breaks out a rose.

He discovers that the thought of Hallam’s presence can cooperate with his recovering imagination, to create a thoughtless joy in life, an energy which breeds possibilities. He considers his own poetic imagination as a strength which leads him into a childlike and passionate happiness.

I am no real poet, but I write habitually. I know that in the immediate shock of our daughter’s death, I turned to writing both verse and prose in the hope that these activities would allow me to fight against death, knowing that a dumb acceptance would be destructive.