Chapter XCI

When the larch is in flower, and the thrush "rarely pipes"--exquisitely sings; and "the sea-blue bird of March,"[64] the kingfisher, "flits by;" come, my friend, in thy spirit form, with thy brow wearing the tokens of what thou hast become. Come to me also in the summer-time, when roses bloom and the wheat ripples in the wind. Don't come at night, but whilst the sunbeam is warm, that I may see thee,

"beauteous in thine after form,
And like a finer light in light."