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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.