When on my bed the moonlight falls, I know that in thy place of rest By that broad water of the west, There comes a glory on the walls;
Thy marble bright in dark appears, As slowly steals a silver flame Along the letters of thy name, And o'er the number of thy years.
The mystic glory swims away; From off my bed the moonlight dies; And closing eaves of wearied eyes I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray;
And then I know the mist is drawn A lucid veil from coast to coast, And in the dark church like a ghost Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto LXVII