Poems (Edwards)/How Sleep the Dead?
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HOW SLEEP THE DEAD.
How sleep the dead, comes there no breathOf sadness to the house of death?Are all its inmates still and cold,And dreamless in their white shroud's fold,And voiceless as the icy clay?The dead! the dead! how slumber they?
How rest the dead, comes there no careInto their hearts, no slavish fear?Have they no thoughts of coming years,Of blasted hopes, of bitter tears,Of youth's bright days too early fled,Ah! tell me now, how rest the dead?
How dream the dead, does memory callBack to the heart its visions all,Do friends beside them walk again,Dream they of friendship's golden chain,Dream they of joys too early fled?How sleep, how rest, how dream the dead?