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 solitute,
      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! -