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 three, are again

In death around three - and their will

Shall overshadow thee: be still

The night - though 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 forever

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish -

Now are visions ne'er 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!