Gone

The night is dark, and evermore
        The thick drops patter on the pane
        The wind is weary of the rain,
    And round the thatches moaneth sore;
        Dark is the night, and cold the air;
        And all the trees stand stark and bare,
    With leaves spread dank and sere below,
        Slow rotting on the plashy clay,
        In the God's-acre far away,
    Where she, O God! lies cold below--
            Cold, cold below!

    And many a bitter day and night
        Have pour'd their storms upon her breast,
        And chill'd her in her long, long rest,
    With foul corruption's icy blight;
        Earth's dews are freezing round the heart,
        Where love alone so late had part;
    And evermore the frost and snow
        Are burrowing downward through the clay,
        In the God's-acre far away,
    Where she, O God! lies cold below,--
            Cold, cold below!

    Those eyes so full of light are dim;
        And the clear chalice of her youth,
        All sparkling up with love and truth,
    Hath Death drain'd keenly from the brim;--
        No more can mortal ear rejoice
        In the soft music of her voice;
    No wistful eye, through tears of woe,
        Can pierce down through the heavy clay,
        In the God's-acre far away,
    Where she, O God! lies cold below,--
            Cold, cold below.

    A star shines, sudden, from the sky--
        God's angel cometh, pure and bright,
        Making a radiance through the night,
    Unto the place where, mute, I lie,
        Gazing up in rapt devotion,
        Shaken by a deep emotion;
    And my thoughts no longer go
        Wandering o'er the plashy clay,
        In the God's-acre far away,
    Where she, O God! _lay_ cold below--
            Cold, cold below!

    God's angel! ah I divinely bright!
        But still the olden grace is there--
        The soft brown eyes--the raven hair--
    The gentle smile of calm delight,
        That could such peace and joy impart--
        The veil is rent from off my heart,
    And gazing upward, well I know
        The rain may beat upon the clay
        In the God's-acre far away;
    But she no longer lies below,
    Enshrouded by the frost and snow--
            Cold, cold below!