Gone.

The night is dark, and evermore
    The thick drops patter on the pane
    The wind is weary of the rain,
And round the thatches moaneth sore;
    Dark is the night, and cold the air;
    And all the trees stand stark and bare,
With leaves spread dank and sere below,
    Slow rotting on the plashy clay,
    In the God's-acre far away,
Where she, O God! lies cold below--
        Cold, cold below!

And many a bitter day and night
    Have pour'd their storms upon her breast,
    And chill'd her in her long, long rest,
With foul corruption's icy blight;
    Earth's dews are freezing round the heart,
    Where love alone so late had part;
And evermore the frost and snow
    Are burrowing downward through the clay,
    In the God's-acre far away,
Where she, O God! lies cold below,--
        Cold, cold below!

Those eyes so full of light are dim;
    And the clear chalice of her youth,
    All sparkling up with love and truth,
Hath Death drain'd keenly from the brim;--
    No more can mortal ear rejoice
    In the soft music of her voice;
No wistful eye, through tears of woe,
    Can pierce down through the heavy clay,
    In the God's-acre far away,
Where she, O God! lies cold below,--
        Cold, cold below.

A star shines, sudden, from the sky--
    God's angel cometh, pure and bright,
    Making a radiance through the night,
Unto the place where, mute, I lie,
    Gazing up in rapt devotion,
    Shaken by a deep emotion;
And my thoughts no longer go
    Wandering o'er the plashy clay,
    In the God's-acre far away,
Where she, O God! _lay_ cold below--
        Cold, cold below!

God's angel! ah I divinely bright!
    But still the olden grace is there--
    The soft brown eyes--the raven hair--
The gentle smile of calm delight,
    That could such peace and joy impart--
    The veil is rent from off my heart,
And gazing upward, well I know
    The rain may beat upon the clay
    In the God's-acre far away;
But she no longer lies below,
Enshrouded by the frost and snow--
        Cold, cold below!