Silence, Not Death

I start! I have slept for a moment;I have dreamt, sitting here by her chair—Oh, how lonely! What was it that touched me?What presence, what heaven-sent air?

It was nothing, you say. But I tremble;I heard her, I knew she was near—Felt her breath, felt her cheek on my forehead—Awake or asleep, she was here!

It was nothing—a dream? Strike that harp-string;Again—still again—till it criesIn its uttermost treble—still strike it—Ha? vibrant but silent! It dies—

It dies, just as she died. Go, listen—That highest vibration is dumb.Your sense, friend, too soon finds a limitAnd answer, when mysteries come.

Truth speaks in the senseless, the spirit;But here in this palpable partWe sound the low notes, but are silentTo music sublimed in the heart.

Too few and too gross our dull senses,And clogged with the mire of the road,Till we loathe their coarse bondage; as seabirdsEncaged on a cliff, look abroad

On the ocean and limitless heaven.Alight with the beautiful stars.And hear what they say, not the creakingsThat rise from our sensual bars.

O life, let me dream, let her presenceBe near me, her fragrance, her breath;Let me sleep, if in slumber the seeking;Sleep on, if the finding be death.