Dreams of the Dead

Oft in still night-dreams a departed face
Bends o’er me with sweet earnestness of eye,
Wearing no more of earthly pains a trace,
But all the tender pity that may lie
On the clear brow of Immortality,
Calm, yet profound. Soft rays illume that mien;
Th’ unshadow’d moonlight of some far-off sky
Around it floats transparently serene
As a pure veil of waters. O rich Sleep!
The spells are mighty in thy regions deep,
To glorify with reconciling breath,
Effacing, brightening, giving forth to shine
Beauty’s high truth; and how much more divine
Thy power when link’d, in this, with thy strong brother--Death!