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And now all the leaves that are sere and dry,
Noiselessly fall, like stars from the sky;
They are showering down on either hand,
A brown, brown burden upon the land.
And thus it will be with the love-stricken maid,
That loveth the Spirits of Light and Shade,
And whose thoughts commune with the spirits that write
The blue book of heaven with words of light.
And who bend down in love for her,
From their stately domes on high,
To teach her each bright character
That gleameth in her eye,
When the solemn night unrols
The vast map of the world of souls.
Oh, extacy! rapt extacy!
For a poor maiden of earth like me;
To have and hold
The spirits who shine like molten gold,
Eternally.
Beautiful Spirits! flee me not;
For this is the hour, and this is the spot,
Where we were wont of old to spell
The language of the star-filled sky;
