I.
Introductory
If thou would'st find what holiest men have sought,
Communion with the power of Poesy,
Empty thy mind of all unquiet thought,--
Lay bare thy spirit to the vaulting sky
And the glory of the sunshine: go and stand
Where nodding briers sport with the water--break,
Or by the plashings of a moonlight creek,--
Or breast the wind upon some jutting land:--
The most unheeded things have influences
That sink into the soul; in after--hours
We oft are tempted suddenly to dress
The tombs of half--forgotten moods with flowers:
Our own choice mocks us;--and the sweetest themes
Come to us without call, wayward as dreams.

III.
On Seeing Our Family Vault
This lodging is well chosen;--for 'tis near
The fitful sighing of those chesnut trees;--
And every Sabbath morning it can hear
The swelling of the hymnèd melodies:
And the low booming of the funeral bell
Shall murmur through the dark and vaulted room,
Waking its solemn echoes but to tell
That one more soul is gathered to its home.
There we shall lie beneath the trodden stone:--
Oh none can tell how dreamless and how deep
Our peace will be--when the last earth is thrown,--
The last notes of the music fallen asleep,--
The mourners past away,--the tolling done,--
The last chink closed, and the long dark begun.