Spirits of the Dead

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 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! --- Spirits of the Dead - A Dream of Poe