Edgar Allan Poe
Spirits Of The Dead
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
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 thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.
The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look 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.
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.
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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Comments about this poem (Spirits Of The Dead by Edgar Allan Poe )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Christina Georgina Rossetti
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
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- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
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