Classic Poem

'T IS sweet to think the pure ethereal being,
Whose mortal form reposes with the dead,
Still hovers round unseen, yet not unseeing,
Benignly smiling o'er the mourner's bed!

She comes in dreams, a thing of light and lightness,
I hear her voice, in still, small accents tell
Of realms of bliss, and never-fading brightness,
Where those who loved on earth together dwell.

Ah! yet a while, blest shade, thy flight delaying,
The kindred soul with mystic converse cheer;
To her rapt gaze, in visions bland displaying,
The unearthly glories of thy happier sphere!

Yet, yet remain! till freed like thee, delighted,
She spurns the thraldom of encumbering clay;
Then as on earth, in tend'rest love united,
Together seek the realms of endless day!