XXXI.
Reading edition
I meant to find her when I came; Death had the same design; But the success was his, it seems, And the discomfit mine.
I meant to tell her how I longed For just this single time; But Death had told her so the first, And she had hearkened him.
To wander now is my abode; To rest, — to rest would be A privilege of hurricane To memory and me.