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Spirits Of The Dead

Thy soul shall find itself alone'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone;

Not one, of all the crowd, to

Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,

Which is not loneliness- for

The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are

In death around thee, and their

Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,

And the stars shall not look

From their high thrones in the

With light like hope to mortals given,

But their red orbs, without beam,

To thy weariness shall

As a burning and a

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

No more, like dewdrop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,

And the mist upon the

Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,

Is a symbol and a token.

How it hangs upon the trees,

A mystery of mysteries!

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Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe (/poʊ/; born Edgar Poe; January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American writer, poet, editor, and literary critic. Poe is be…

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