40 lines
1.3 KiB
Plaintext
40 lines
1.3 KiB
Plaintext
1827
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SPIRITS OF THE DEAD
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by Edgar Allan Poe
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Thy soul shall find itself alone
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'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
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Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
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Into thine hour of secrecy.
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Be silent in that solitude,
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Which is not loneliness- for then
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The spirits of the dead, who stood
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In life before thee, are again
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In death around thee, and their will
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Shall overshadow thee; be still.
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The night, though clear, shall frown,
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And the stars shall not look down
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From their high thrones in the Heaven
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With light like hope to mortals given,
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But their red orbs, without beam,
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To thy weariness shall seem
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As a burning and a fever
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Which would cling to thee for ever.
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Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
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Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
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From thy spirit shall they pass
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No more, like dew-drop from the grass.
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The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
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And the mist upon the hill
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Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
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Is a symbol and a token.
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How it hangs upon the trees,
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A mystery of mysteries!
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-THE END-
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