When Posey drains the last unspoken verse,
And sepulchers of brother sleep are made,
These earthen visions gray and seem to fade;
As if the gods at last removed their curse.
I wonder if I close my eyes awake,
And open them upon these fearful dreams:
A veil of tears with muffled, broken screams,
A scrim of shadows: pale and nigh opaque.
I live life’s repetitions all in vain,
But slumber is a novelty broke through;
Forever hailing worlds forever new-
Where virtues gold, and greed is turned to pain.
Then pondering within my pillowed head,
I see that death is morning for the dead.
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