Spirits of the Dead (aka Visits of the Dead)
Edgar Allan Poe, 1809 – 1849
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!
In this part of Texas we are enjoying some milder temperatures. The mornings are in the mid 60’s range and a dewy haze fills the forest that is my front yard. I spotted a few green acorns this evening and understood Autumn is approaching. Panic was my first reaction for there are many goals unmet. But if just for today I shall sigh and think on the beauty of the first green acorn I’ve found, remembering they are the start of a mighty oak.