--Edgar Allen Poe

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,
Shadow- shadowy- yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token-
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

happy halloween