If one should bring me this report, That thou hadst touch'd the land to-day, And I went down unto the quay, And found thee lying in the port;
And standing, muffled round with woe, Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank, And beckoning unto those they know;
And if along with these should come The man I held as half-divine; Should strike a sudden hand in mine, And ask a thousand things of home;
And I should tell him all my pain, And how my life had droop'd of late, And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possess'd my brain;
And I perceived no touch of change, No hint of death in all his frame, But found him all in all the same, I should not feel it to be strange.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto XIV