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!