Spirits of the Dead

Spirits of the Dead

	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. Edgar Allan Poe