Written towards the end of the poet’s life, this mysterious exchange shows him reflecting on the ‘spirit’ he has lost
Phantom or Fact: A Dialogue in Verse
Author
A lovely form there sate beside my bed,
And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
A tender love so pure from earthly leaven
That I unnethe the fancy might control,
’Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven
Wooing its gentle way into my soul!
But ah! the change – It had not stirred, and yet
Alas! that change how fain would I forget?
That shrinking back, like one that had mistook!
That weary, wandering, disavowing look!
’Twas all another, feature, look and frame,
And still, methought, I knew it was the same!
Friend
This riddling tale, to what does it belong?
Is’t history? vision? or an idle song?
Or rather say at once, within what space
Of time this wild disastrous change took place?