Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress! Strange, above all, thy length of tress, And this all solemn silentness ! III. The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, I pray to God that she may lie For ever with unopened eye, While the dim sheeted ghosts go by! IV. My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, As it is lasting, so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold Some vault that oft hath flung its black Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone; Some tomb, from out whose sounding door Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! SILENCE. THERE are some qualities-some incorporate things, That have a double life, which thus is made A type of that twin entity which springs From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade. There is a two-fold Silence. sea and shore – Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places, Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces, Some human memories and tearful lore, Render him terrorless: his name 's "No more." He is the corporate Silence: dread him not! No power hath he of evil in himself; But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!) Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf, That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod No foot of man), commend thyself to God! THE CONQUEROR WORM. I. Lo! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years ! A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. II. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly; Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo! III. That motley drama-oh, be sure It shall not be forgot! With its Phantom chased for evermore, Through a circle that ever returneth in And much of Madness, and more of Sin, IV. But, see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes!-it writhes!-with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, In human gore imbued. V. Out-out are the lights—out all ! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm; And the angels, all pallid and wan, That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm. A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM. I. TAKE this kiss upon the brow! In a vision, or in none, Is it, therefore, the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. II. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, |