Since first this Holy Precinct of the Dead was set apart and sanctified.
Sunset and purple cloud have kept their vestal watch,
The morning breezes played,
And noontide spanned the waters, day by day;
The lightnings and the frost disturb them nevermore,
Wrapt in a reverie of God, they heed not if the Shepherd-stars be caring for a weary world or no,
Or violets be budding in the melting snows.
They wonder not at creeds of men,
Or why their prayers are lost in space;
Long since they found the sky-hung stretches of Eternity,