'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy
Be silent in that solitude
Which is not lonelness, for then
The spirits of dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In dead around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still
The night, tho' clear, shall frown
And the stars shall not look down
From their high throwns in 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