Lay them together, breast to maiden breast, 
Limb linked with limb, and lips to pallid lips, 
So beautiful in death—the moth o’ th’ mind 
Tells the grief-numbed senses ’tis but sleep— 
See !  the pale glimmer of a ghostly arm 
Flashes a spot of light !—Ah !  weary day ! 
’Tis but the flickering of the candle-light 
And the unmanning sorrow of the heart 
That lends the reins to fancy’s charioteer. 
Lay them together, let us leave them there ! 
There comes a vision to my mortal eyes 
Of things immortal.  Hark !  the growing swell 
Of some wild clarion through the dazzling night, 
Whose fairy aether suddenly illumes 
With silver meteors innumerable 
And golden showers of stars—lost worlds of 
thought 
And poets’ dreams, and jewels of virgin sighs. 
Hark !  the broad rings of sound go wavering on 
Eddying and rippling through the desart sky 
That now is peopled with the diamond wings 
That float through all the palaces of God. 
O now to join them rise the armies vast 
 
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