Tears

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Tears

It seems I have no tears left. They should have fallen⁠—

Their ghosts, if tears have ghosts, did fall⁠—that day

When twenty hounds streamed by me, not yet combed out

But still all equals in their rage of gladness

Upon the scent, made one, like a great dragon

In Blooming Meadow that bends towards the sun

And once bore hops: and on that other day

When I stepped out from the double-shadowed Tower

Into an April morning, stirring and sweet

And warm. Strange solitude was there and silence.

A mightier charm than any in the Tower

Possessed the courtyard. They were changing guard

Soldiers in line, young English countrymen,

Fair-haired and ruddy, in white tunics. Drums

And fifes were playing “The British Grenadiers.”

The men, the music piercing that solitude

And silence, told me truths I had not dreamed

And have forgotten since their beauty passed.