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!