Sonnet:To David Friedrich Strauss

Thou say'st, my friend, 'twould strike thee with dismayTo be assured that life would not end here;Since utter death is less a thing to fearIn thy esteem than life in clearer day:For life, continuous life, thou wouldst not pray;And even reunion with the loved and nearIs not to thee a prospect that could cheer,Or shed a glory on thy earthward way:---O power of thought perverse and morbid mood,Conspiring thus to numb and blind the heart!The universe gives back what we impart,---As we elect, gives poison or pure food:Mock---silence---the soul's whisper,---and DespairBecomes to man than Hope itself more fair!