My Poem of the Week: 'Spirits of the Dead' by Edgar Allen Poe

I have something slightly more festive in mind for next week, but for me, ghosts and reflection and remembrance are just as much a part of the season as sleigh rides and snow scenes and sugary treats.

(Also, go me, I managed to post this on an actual Monday for once!)

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 them
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!