Classic Poem

Oh , there is ruth in Fate since her dire blows
Stun while they crush us. In thy vacant room,
Where all yet speaks of thee, in torpid gloom
I wait expecting, till the door unclose
And shows thee entering. Do I sleep? The throes
Of passionate grief are spent; the tide of Doom
Breaks faint, and like some soothing river flows.
This dream is sweet. Thou art not in the tomb;
I catch thy foot-fall! Still in thee I live,
Spring of my joys and bound to all my ends!—
Vague terrors gird me still. Sweet, angel-friends,
O, let no cruel waking ere arrive!
Lull me in stupor while I hope her kiss,
And, dying, let me stumble into bliss.