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 Innumerable as the stars of night,
Or stars of morning, dewdrops which the sun
Impearls on every leaf and every flower.
 -


Must I thus leave thee, Paradise?—thus leave
Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades?-

The sun to me is dark
And silent as the moon,
When she deserts the night
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.


Just are the ways of God,
And justifiable to men;
Unless there be who think not God at all.-

Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail
Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt,
Dispraise, or blame,—nothing but well and fair,
And what may quiet us in a death so noble.-

A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory,
Of calling shapes, and beck’ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men’s names
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.-

How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the raven down
Of darkness till it smil’d!-

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