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

Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, / And howlest, issuing out of night, / With blasts that blow the poplar white, / And lash with storm the streaming pane?

Day, when my crown'd estate begun / To pine in that reverse of doom, / Which sicken'd every living bloom, / And blurr'd the splendour of the sun;