After Reading in Ingram's Monograph on Oliver Madox Brown the Chapter Entitled "Friendship", 1

Walking my way, with face to sorrow set,
A voice, most like the wind's voice when it says
Some grieving word within a pine-thronged place
Spake low to me; and turning round, I met
The eyes my spirit never may forget.
Then for long time unseen; and down the ways
A spectral band, the ghosts of my old days.
Came to me sighing, " Ah, not forgotten yet!"

And some looked sad, and some were garlanded
With flowers that long ago made fair the land;
And in the midst there came, hand clasped in hand.
My friend, and those to whom my life was wed.
"But ah, what shape," I cried, "now heads the band?"
"What shape but thine old self? " the wind's voice said.