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bryant_1881_thanatopsis.md

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+---
+title: Thanatopsis
+tags:
+  - exclude-from-word-count
+  - type/media/poetry
+author: William Cullen Bryant
+year: 1881
+---
+# Thanatopsis
+
+To him who in the love of Nature holds \
+Communion with her visible forms, she speaks \
+A various language; for his gayer hours \
+She has a voice of gladness, and a smile \
+And eloquence of beauty, and she glides \
+Into his darker musings, with a mild \
+And healing sympathy, that steals away \
+Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts \
+Of the last bitter hour come like a blight \
+Over thy spirit, and sad images \
+Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, \
+And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, \
+Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;--- \
+Go forth, under the open sky, and list \
+To Nature's teachings, while from all around--- \
+Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--- \
+Comes a still voice---Yet a few days, and thee \
+The all-beholding sun shall see no more \
+In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, \
+Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, \
+Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist \
+Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim \
+Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, \
+And, lost each human trace, surrendering up \
+Thine individual being, shalt thou go \
+To mix for ever with the elements, \
+To be a brother to the insensible rock \
+And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain \
+Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak \
+Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
+
+\
+
+Yet not to thine eternal resting-place \
+Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish \
+Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down \
+With patriarchs of the infant world---with kings, \
+The powerful of the earth---the wise, the good, \
+Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, \
+All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills \
+Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,---the vales \
+Stretching in pensive quietness between; \
+The venerable woods---rivers that move \
+In majesty, and the complaining brooks \
+That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, \
+Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,--- \
+Are but the solemn decorations all \
+Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, \
+The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, \
+Are shining on the sad abodes of death, \
+Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread \
+The globe are but a handful to the tribes \
+That slumber in its bosom.---Take the wings \
+Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, \
+Or lose thyself in the continuous woods \
+Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, \
+Save his own dashings---yet the dead are there: \
+And millions in those solitudes, since first \
+The flight of years began, have laid them down \
+In their last sleep---the dead reign there alone. \
+So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw \
+In silence from the living, and no friend \
+Take note of thy departure? All that breathe \
+Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh \
+When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care \
+Plod on, and each one as before will chase \
+His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave \
+Their mirth and their employments, and shall come \
+And make their bed with thee. As the long train \
+Of ages glide away, the sons of men, \
+The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes \
+In the full strength of years, matron and maid, \
+The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--- \
+Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, \
+By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
+
+So live, that when thy summons comes to join \
+The innumerable caravan, which moves \
+To that mysterious realm, where each shall take \
+His chamber in the silent halls of death, \
+Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, \
+Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed \
+By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, \
+Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch \
+About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.