In Memoriam a. H. H by Alfred Tennyson — Read

I cannot see the features right, / When on the gloom I strive to paint / The face I know; the hues are faint / And mix with hollow masks of night;

Cloud-towers by ghostly masons wrought, / A gulf that ever shuts and gapes, / A hand that points, and palled shapes / In shadowy thoroughfares of thought;