(To F. E. D.) Come Again To The Place Where Your Presence Was As A Leaf That Skims Down A Drouthy Way Whose Ascent Bedims The Bloom On The Farer'S Face. Come Again, With The Feet That Were Light On The Green As A Thistledown Ball, And Those Mute Ministrations To One And To All Beyond A Man'S Saying Sweet. Until Then The Faint Scent Of The Bordering Flowers Swam Unheeded Away, And I Marked Not The Charm In The Changes Of Day As The Cloud-Colours Came And Went. Through The Dark Corridors Your Walk Was So Soundless I Did Not Know Your Form From A Phantom'S Of Long Ago Said To Pass On The Ancient Floors, Till You Drew From The Shade, And I Saw The Large Luminous Living Eyes Regard Me In Fixed Inquiring-Wise As Those Of A Soul That Weighed, Scarce Consciously, The Eternal Question Of What Life Was, And Why We Were There, And By Whose Strange Laws That Which Mattered Most Could Not Be.