Sonnet:To David Friedrich Strauss

Thou say'st, my friend, 'twould strike thee with dismay To be assured that life would not end here; Since utter death is less a thing to fear In thy esteem than life in clearer day: For life, continuous life, thou wouldst not pray; And even reunion with the loved and near Is not to thee a prospect that could cheer, Or shed a glory on thy earthward way:--- O power of thought perverse and morbid mood, Conspiring thus to numb and blind the heart! The universe gives back what we impart,--- As we elect, gives poison or pure food: Mock---silence---the soul's whisper,---and Despair Becomes to man than Hope itself more fair!