And Ask Ye Why...

And ask ye why these sad tears stream? 
Why these wan eyes are dim with weeping?
I had a dream–a lovely dream,
  Of her that in the grave is sleeping.

I saw her as ’twas yesterday,
  The bloom upon her cheek still glowing;
And round her play’d a golden ray, 
And on her brows were gay flowers blowing.

With angel-hand she swept a lyre,
  A garland red with roses bound it;
Its strings were wreath’d with lambent fire 
And amaranth was woven round it.

I saw her mid the realms of light,
  In everlasting radiance gleaming;
Co-equal with the seraphs bright, 
Mid thousand thousand angels beaming.

I strove to reach her, when, behold,
  Those fairy forms of bliss Elysian,
And all that rich scene wrapt in gold, 
Faded in air–a lovely vision!

And I awoke, but oh! to me 
That waking hour was doubly weary;
And yet I could not envy thee, 
Although so blest, and I so dreary.

- Lord Alfred Tennyson