IX.—DREAMS OF THE DEAD

Oft in still night-dreams a departed face
Bends o'er me with sweet earnestness of eye
Wearing no more of earthly pains a trace,
But all the tender pity that may lie
On the clear brow of immortality,
Calm, yet profound. Soft rays illume that mien,
Th' unshadow'd moonlight of some far-off sky
Around it floats transparently serene
As a pure veil of waters. O rich sleep!
Thou hast strong spirits in thy regions deep,
Which glorify with reconciling breath,
Effacing, brightening, giving forth to shine
Beauty's high truth, and how much more divine
Thy power when link'd in this, with thy stern brother—Death!