Cynotaphium (continued)

' I cannot think thine all is buried here,'
I said, and sigh'd — the wind awoke and blew
The morning-beam along the gossamer,
That floated o'er thy grave all wet with dew —
A hint of better things, however slight,
Will feed a loving hope; it soothed my woe
To watch that little shaft of heavenly light
Pass o'er thee, moving softly to and fro:
Within our Father's heart the secret lies
Of this dim world; why should we only live
And what was I that I should close mine eyes
On all those rich presumptions, that reprieve
The meanest life from dust and ashes? Lo!
How much on such dark ground a gleaming thread can do!