Transfiguration

But half a man's days--and his days were nights. What hearts were ours who loved him, should we pray That night would yield him back to darkling day, Sweet death that soothes, to life that spoils and smites? For now, perchance, life lovelier than the light's That shed no comfort on his weary way Shows him what none may dream to see or say Ere yet the soul may scale those topless heights Where death lies dead, and triumph. Haply there Already may his kindling eyesight find Faces of friends--no face than his more fair-- And first among them found of all his kind Milton, with crowns from Eden on his hair, And eyes that meet a brother's now not blind.