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Spirits of the Dead
By Edgar Allan Poe

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I.

          Thy soul shall find itself alone
          ’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tomb-stone —
          Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
          Into thine hour of secrecy:

II.

          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 overshadow thee: be still.

III.

          The night — tho’ 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 for ever.

IV.

          Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish —
          Now are visions ne’er to vanish —
          From thy spirit shall they pass
          No more — like dew-drop from the grass.

V.

          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! —
 
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