A beam in darkness: let it grow.

That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.

For this alone on Death I wreak The wrath that garners in my heart: He put our lives so far apart We cannot hear each other speak.

I wind about, and in and out, - With here a blossom sailing, - And here and there a lusty trout, - And here and there a grayling.

Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.

I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)