Where do they dwell? ‘Neath grassy mounts, by daisies,
Lilies, and yellow-cups of fairest gold;
Near grey-grown walls, where in wild, tortuous mazes,
Old clustering ivy wreathes in many a fold:
Where in red summer noons
Fresh leaves are rustling,
Where ’neath large autumn moons
Young birds are nestling—
Do they dwell there?
Where do they dwell? In sullen waters, lying
On beds of purple sea-flowers newly sprung;
Where the mad whirlpool’s wild and ceaseless sighing,
Frets sloping banks, by dark green reeds o’erhung:
Where, by the torrent’s swell,
Crystal stones glitter,
While sounds the heavy bell
Over the river—
Do they dwell there?
No: for in these they slumber to decay,
And their remembrance with their life departs;
They have a home,—nor dark, nor far away—
Their proper home.—within our faithful hearts;
There happy spirits wed,
Loving for ever;
There dwell with us, the dead,
Parting—ah, never—
There do they dwell!