Your soul shall find itself alone
Dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to leave
Into his hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before me, are again
In death around you, and their will
Shall overshadow you so be still.
The night, though 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 my weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which will cling to you for ever.
Seen are thoughts your soul shalt not banish,
Now are visions never to vanish;
From your spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.
The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowed, black yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries...