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 then overshadow thee: be still.


For the night — tho' clear — shall frown

And the stars shall look not down,

From their high thrones in 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.