Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the gray
tombstone ---
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of
secrecy:
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 then
overshadow thee: be still.
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:
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:
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!
