Sweet after showers, ambrosial air, That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow, slowly breathing bare
The round of space, and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood, And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples, fan my brows and blow
The fever from my cheek, and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, Ill brethren, let the fancy fly
From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far, To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper "Peace."
-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto LXXXVI