The Suppressed Poems by Alfred Tennyson

Sometimes I thought Camilla was no more, Some one had told me she was dead, and ask'd me If I would see her burial: then I seem'd To rise, and thro' the forest-shadow borne With more than mortal swiftness, I ran down The sleepy sea-bank, till I came upon The rear of a procession, curving round The silver-sheeted bay: in front of which Six stately virgins, all in white, upbare A broad earth-sweeping pall of whitest lawn, Wreathed round the bier with garlands: in the distance, From out the yellow woods, upon the hill, Look'd forth the summit and the pinnacles Of a grey steeple.

All the pageantry, Save those six virgins which upheld the bier, Were stoled from head to foot in flowing black; One walk'd abreast with me, and veiled his brow, And he was loud in weeping and in praise Of the departed: a strong sympathy Shook all my soul: I flung myself upon him In tears and cries: I told him all my love, How I had loved her from the first; whereat He shrunk and howl'd, and from his brow drew back His hand to push me from him; and the face The very face and form of Lionel, Flash'd through my eyes into my innermost brain, And at his feet I seemed to faint and fall, To fall and die away. I could not rise, Albeit I strove to follow. They pass'd on, The lordly Phantasms; in their floating folds They pass'd and were no more: but I had fall'n Prone by the dashing runnel on the grass.