1. Spirits of the Dead

I

Thy soul shall find itself alone

’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tomb-stone —

Not one, of all the crowd, to pry

Into thine hour of secrecy:

II

Be silent in that solitude,

Which is not loneliness — for then

The spirits of the dead who stood

In life before thee are again

In death around thee — and their will

Shall overshadow thee: be still.

III

The night — tho’ clear — shall frown —

And the stars shall look not down,

From their high thrones in the heaven,

With light like Hope to mortals given —

But their red orbs, without beam,

To thy weariness shall seem

As a burning and a fever

Which would cling to thee for ever.

IV

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish —

Now are visions ne’er to vanish —

From thy spirit shall they pass

No more — like dew-drop from the grass. 

V

The breeze — the breath of God — is still —

And the mist upon the hill

Shadowy — shadowy — yet unbroken,

Is a symbol and a token —

How it hangs upon the trees,

A mystery of mysteries! —