Spirits of the Dead
Thy soul shall find itself alone
вАЩMid dark thoughts of the gray tombstoneвБ†вАФ
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude
Which is not lonelinessвБ†вАФfor then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around theeвБ†вАФand their will
Shall then overshadow thee: be still.
For the nightвБ†вАФthoвАЩ clearвБ†вАФshall frownвБ†вАФ
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals givenвБ†вАФ
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee forever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banishвБ†вАФ
Now are visions neвАЩer to vanishвБ†вАФ
From thy spirit shall they pass
No moreвБ†вАФlike dew-drops from the grass.
The breezeвБ†вАФthe breath of GodвБ†вАФis stillвБ†вАФ
And the mist upon the hill
ShadowyвБ†вАФshadowyвБ†вАФyet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a tokenвБ†вАФ
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!