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 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:
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 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:
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