Poems (Hoffman)/Buried
BURIED.
In the mystic realm of reason,
Hidden from the critic's vision,
In the vernal vale elysian,
Where our cherished fancies throng,
Close beside affection's river,
Flowing from the heart forever,
Lie the tombs of thoughts that never
Can be woven into song.
Hidden from the critic's vision,
In the vernal vale elysian,
Where our cherished fancies throng,
Close beside affection's river,
Flowing from the heart forever,
Lie the tombs of thoughts that never
Can be woven into song.
In the moonlight, sad and solemn,
Lighting up each broken column,
'Neath the willow branches fallen,
Dipping in the surging stream.
Elegy and allegory,
Who can read the secret story,
In the pensive moonlight glory,
Like the measures of a dream?
Lighting up each broken column,
'Neath the willow branches fallen,
Dipping in the surging stream.
Elegy and allegory,
Who can read the secret story,
In the pensive moonlight glory,
Like the measures of a dream?
All alone within the glistening
Of the slanting starlight, listening
For the cold shroud garments rustling
Of some silent sleeper there.
All alone, no fellow mortal
Ever passed that guarded portal;
Hush! No human sound shall startle
One from out its sepulcher.
Of the slanting starlight, listening
For the cold shroud garments rustling
Of some silent sleeper there.
All alone, no fellow mortal
Ever passed that guarded portal;
Hush! No human sound shall startle
One from out its sepulcher.
Just outside the cemetery,
In fantastic costumes airy;
Fancies dance in circles merry,
Dance to music lightly gay.
But within a hush unbroken,
Thoughts that lie and live unspoken,
Thoughts that time can never waken
From their silent lethargy.
In fantastic costumes airy;
Fancies dance in circles merry,
Dance to music lightly gay.
But within a hush unbroken,
Thoughts that lie and live unspoken,
Thoughts that time can never waken
From their silent lethargy.
There are graves and graves unnumbered,
That for years and years have slumbered,
Whether with white snows encumbered,
Or with sunshine gilded o'er.
Snows their outer forms may whiten,
Sunshine may their sadness brighten,
But their burden naught can lighten—
They are graves forevermore.
That for years and years have slumbered,
Whether with white snows encumbered,
Or with sunshine gilded o'er.
Snows their outer forms may whiten,
Sunshine may their sadness brighten,
But their burden naught can lighten—
They are graves forevermore.
So beneath the smiles of gladness
Often lie the tombs of sadness;
Were it not a dream of madness,
Their existence to deny.
Spent may be the storm-clouds weeping,
Under smiles and sunshine sleeping;
Two perchance one record keeping,
Carved in stone and memory.
Often lie the tombs of sadness;
Were it not a dream of madness,
Their existence to deny.
Spent may be the storm-clouds weeping,
Under smiles and sunshine sleeping;
Two perchance one record keeping,
Carved in stone and memory.
Long may we forget the hidden
Haunts that souls alone have trodden,
'Till some tolling bell unbidden
Calls away to other years.
Back to dream in twilight pausing,
While the gates behind us closing,
Entrance unto all refusing,
Rise like mighty barriers.
Haunts that souls alone have trodden,
'Till some tolling bell unbidden
Calls away to other years.
Back to dream in twilight pausing,
While the gates behind us closing,
Entrance unto all refusing,
Rise like mighty barriers.
Ah, despair the brain would madden,
Did no flowers of promise gladden,
Even while their glories sadden,
Every wreath-encircled urn.
All the burdened air they lighten,
For in bud and bloom is written,
These in midnight gloom forgotten
To the sunlight shall return.
Did no flowers of promise gladden,
Even while their glories sadden,
Every wreath-encircled urn.
All the burdened air they lighten,
For in bud and bloom is written,
These in midnight gloom forgotten
To the sunlight shall return.