Classic Poem

Dark is the mansion of the dead
Dark desolate and still
Around it dwells a solemn dread
Within a charnel chill

O mother! does thy spirit rest
In fairer worlds than ours?
'mid tranquil valleys ever-blest
And ever-blooming bowers?

I trust it doth for thy pale clay
Hath found no fair abode
Shut from the happy light of day
Pressed by the cold earth's load

Yet mother! I would rest with thee
In thy long dreamless sleep
Though dread its mute solemnity
All voiceless, still & deep

And I would rest my weary head
Upon thy lifeless breast
Nor feel one shuddering thrill of dread
At what my temples prest

Earth is a dreary void to me
Heaven is a cloud of gloom
Then mother! let me sleep with thee
Safe in thy stilly tomb