The Newly Dead.

I.     With the light just quenched in their eyes     They lie in their graves 'neath the skies,     And the fresh clod rests     Heavy upon their breasts.     The white rose dies     Upon the new-made mound, and underneath     The lily shrivels in the shriveling hand.     Pale guests of sovereign Death,     They sought their silent beds at his command,     And it seems     Strange that their life-long dreams     Shall find them no more,--never bid them arise     And go forth with a glory in their eyes.     II.     Still, voiceless, cold,     They lie in their shrouds and hold     The crumbling links that make     A chain for Memory's sake,     Broken, alas! too soon.     Blithe morn and brazen noon     And eve with garb of gray and gold,     Know them no more in the dark ways they take.     They have forgot the sun,     And the fiery worlds that run     About it. Something--(what, let no man say,)--     Begot of mystery is in mystery done:     The rest shall be with them and God alway.