Baffled I return, and, leaning

O'er the parapets of cloud,

Watch the mist that intervening

Wraps the valley in its shroud.

And the sounds of life ascending

Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear,

Murmur of bells and voices blending With the rush of waters near.

Well I know what there lies hidden,

Every tower and town and farm,

And again the land forbidden

Reassumes its vanished charm.

The lovely town was white with apple-blooms,

And the great elms o'erhead

Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms,

Shot through with golden thread.

Across the meadows, by the gray old manse,

The historic river flowed:

I was as one who wanders in a trance,

Unconscious of his road.

The faces of familiar friends seemed strange:

Their voices I could hear,

And yet the words they uttered seemed to change

Their meaning to my ear.

For the one face I looked for was not there,

The one low voice was mute;

Only an unseen presence filled the air,

And baffled my pursuit.

Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream

Dimly my thought defines;

I only see a dream within a dream

The hill-top hearsed with pines.

I only hear above his place of rest

Their tender undertone,

The infinite longings of a troubled breast,

The voice so like his own.

There in seclusion and remote from men

The wizard hand lies cold,

Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, And left the tale half told.