Turn not deaf to the stern clamor,
Frozen upon my mourner's lip;
Whose cry has weakened the desire in me,
Desire to rest in the arms of slumber;
Greeting my open eyes, tired;
For an infinite slumber!
That shall transcend the limits of serenity,
And whisper to me the music of eternity;
Turn not blind to that covetous bosom,
Holding haplessly to a mocked heart;
And a deluge of despair
Down his pale cheek streaming,
For who shall dry his abrasive skin?
With tears, filling one lipless grin!
And I lay muted in my hallowed bier,
While the fists of oblivion upon my wreath,
Have me acquainted with this calamity in spare
Following the era of my departure;
But to my mourner, I ask
To mourn me not with an apparel of black;
To lament me not with such brooding contrition;
And shed not tears upon my bed;
And chant not of my departure;
Rather look for my closure forevermore;
With a closed eye and open heart;
And let me look upon the bride of death,
Till I engulf her waves of tranquility;
Come close and bid me farewell,
And go back to thy dwellings and life;
For thou shall not be the sufferer,
And bear this faith with thee;
That even in my muted conscience,
I haven't turned deaf,
I haven't turned blind upon thee!
Topic(s) of this poem: death, mourning, sadness, lament
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