To the Happy Dead People WHAT of the darkness? Is it very fair? Are there great calms? and find we silence there? Like soft-shut lilies, all your faces glow With some strange peace our faces never know, With some strange faith our faces never dare,— Dwells it in Darkness? Do you find it there? Is it a Bosom where tired heads may lie? Is it a Mouth to kiss our weeping dry? Is it a Hand to still the pulse’s leap? Is it a Voice that holds the runes of sleep? Day shows us not such comfort anywhere— Dwells it in Darkness? Do ye find it there? Out of the Day’s deceiving light we call— Day that shows man so great, and God so small, That hides the stars, and magnifies the grass— O is the Darkness too a lying glass! Or undistracted, do you find truth there? What of the Darkness? Is it very fair?
What of the Darkness?
Collection:
Sub Title:
V. Death and Bereavement
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She ’s somewhere in the sunlight strong, Her tears are in the falling rain, She calls me in the wind’s soft song, And with the flowers she comes again. Yon bird is but her messenger, The moon is but her silver car; Yea! sun and moon are sent by her, And every wistful waiting star.
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To the Happy Dead People WHAT of the darkness? Is it very fair? Are there great calms? and find we silence there? Like soft-shut lilies, all your faces glow With some strange peace our faces never know, With some strange faith our faces never dare,— Dwells it in Darkness? Do you find it there?...