Spirits of the Dead

Valentine Wolfe
Valentine Wolfe


I. 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. 

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 not look 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. 

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 
A symbol and a token 
How it hangs upon the trees 
A mystery of mysteries!


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