Spirits of the Dead by Edgar Allan Poe

xtwilightx

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I 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: II 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. III The night--tho'clear--shall frown-- And the stars shall look not down, From their high thrones in the heaven, With lights 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!--