My soul to-day

Yon deep bark goes Where Traffic blows From lands of sun to lands of snows;— Yon happier one, Its course is run From lands of snow to lands of sun.

We bring roses, beautiful fresh roses, Dewy as the morning and colored like the dawn.

With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise.

O Night! most beautiful and rare! Thou givest the heavens their holiest hue, And through the azure fields of air Bringest down the gentle dew.

Within the sober realm of leafless trees, The russet year inhaled the dreamy air; Like some tanned reaper, in his hour of ease, When all the fields are lying brown and bare.

Hamlet most brings home to us at once the sense of the soul's infinity, and the sense of the doom which not only circumscribes that infinity but appears to be its offspring.