The Empty House

I SEEMED to see thy spirit leave the clayThat was its mortal tenement of late;I seemed to see it falter at the gateOf the New Life, as seeking to obeySome inner law, yet doubtful of the wayProvided for its passage, by that fateWhich makes birth pain, and gives to death such stateAnd dignity, when soul withdraws its sway.

A tremor of the pale and noble brow,A tightening of the lips, and thou wast gone—Gone?—whither? Ah, the hush of death's abyss!All tenantless thy beauteous form lay nowAs the cicada's fragile shell outgrown,Or as the long-forsaken, lonely chrysalis.