Spirits of the Dead by Edgar Allan Poe 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: Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness - for then the spirits of the dead who stood In life before three, are again In death around three - 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. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish - Now are visions neer to vanish - From thy spirit shall they pass No more - like dew-drops 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!-
Posted on: Tue, 29 Oct 2013 19:01:12 +0000
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