Classic Poem

You ask me why my thoughts assume
Such dark significance of gloom,
When, sitting in the chapel there,
I list the sermon and the prayer.

If you could summon up such hosts
Of phantom figures, dreary ghosts,
That come and take their seat beside
My seat, or in the stillness glide.

Along the purple-tinted aisle,
And whisper of the past, the while
The preacher prays his solemn prayer,
You would not wonder at me there.

If you could hear the tones, my friend,
That with the singers' voices blend,
Or when the organ thunders roll, —
You would not question thus my soul.

You would not wonder that I turn
From church and chapel with so stern
A sadness on mYoutward face,
And thus refuse your gentle grace.