 | Poems by John B. Tabb |  |
75
SYMPATHY.
'Tis in the silent isthmus-hour of time,Where light and darkness have alternate birth,
And nature, in her agony sublime,
Shrouds with a veil of mystery, the earth
That, as a mist low-creeping through the gloom,
A wandering shadow clasps a nameless tomb—
All night the cypress sighs: the waning moon
Sinks, pale with vigil, where the sun has set:
The morning wakes; and, lo! an altar strewn,—
A grave with deathless sympathy is wet.
| Poems by John B. Tabb | |