SPIRITS OF THE DEAD

SPIRITS  OF  THE  DEAD

Thy soul shall find itself alone

'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;

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 not look 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 dewdrop 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 !

                                  Edgar Allan Poe 1809 - 1849