|
THY soul shall find itself alone— Alone of all on earth—unknown The cause—but none are near 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 o’ershadow thee—be still For the night, tho’ clear, shall frown: And the stars shall look not down From their thrones, in the dark heav’n; With light like Hope to mortals giv’n, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy withering heart shall seem As a burning, and a ferver Which would cling to thee forever. But ’twill leave thee, as each star In the morning light afar Will fly thee—and vanish: —But its thought thou can’st not banish. The breath of God will be still; And the wish upon the hill By that summer breeze unbrok’n Shall charm thee—as a token, And a symbol which shall be Secrecy in thee. |