Classic Poem

My mother's grave, my mother's grave!
— Oh! dreamless is her slumber there,
And drowsily the banners wave
— O'er her that was so chaste and fair;
Yea! love is dead, and memory faded!
— But when the dew is on the brake,
— — And silence sleeps on earth and sea,
— And mourners weep, and ghosts awake,
— — Oh! then she cometh back to me,
In her cold beauty darkly shaded!

I cannot guess her face or form;
— But what to me is form or face?
I do not ask the weary worm
— To give me back each buried grace
Of glistening eyes, or trailing tresses!
— I only feel that she is here,
— — And that we meet, and that we part
— And that I drink within mine ear,
— — And that I clasp around my heart,
Her sweet still voice, and soft caresses!

Not in the waking thought by day,
— Not in the sightless dream by night,
Do the mild tones and glances play,
— Of her who was my cradle's light!
But in some twilight of calm weather
— She glides, by fancy dimly wrought,
— — A glittering cloud, a darkling beam,
— With all the quiet of a thought,
— — And all the passion of a dream,
Linked in a golden spell together!