Alone

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:

Be silent in that solitude
Which is not loneliness - for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before three, are again
In death around three - and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.

The night - though clear - shall frown -
And the stars shall look not 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 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!