“Thanatopsis” By William Cullen Bryant That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, To him who in the love of Nature holds Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, Communion with her visible forms, she speaks The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, A various language; for his gayer hours Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— Are but the solemn decorations all She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 45 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 5 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 50 Into his darker musings, with a mild That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings And healing sympathy, that steals away Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Over thy spirit, and sad images 10 Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there: Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And millions in those solitudes, since first And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, The flight of years began, have laid them down Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart— In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone. Go forth, under the open sky, and list 55 So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw To Nature's teachings, while from all around— 15 In silence from the living, and no friend Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Comes a still voice— Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 60 When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Yet a few days, and thee Plod on, and each one as before will chase The all-beholding sun shall see no more His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave 65 In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, 20 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, And make their bed with thee. As the long train Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Of ages glides away, the sons of men, Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 70 And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 25 The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man— Thine individual being, shalt thou go Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, To mix for ever with the elements, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain So live, that when thy summons comes to join Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 30 The innumerable caravan, which moves Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 75 His chamber in the silent halls of death, Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings, 35 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good, About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun—the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods—rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks 40 80