Gothic Fetish Debauchery

Thy soul shall find itself alone
‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone -
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy:

Be silent in that solitude
Which is not loneliness - for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee - and their will
Shall then overshadow thee: be still.

For the night - tho’ clear - shall frown -
And the stars shall look not down,
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given -
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever :

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish -
Now are visions ne’er to vanish -
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more - like dew-drop from the gras