Though we were Dust

In the vast realms of unconjectured space,
Where devious paths eternally outspread,
Where farthest stars their mighty marches tread,
And unknown suns through unknown systems pace,
What power can give our longing hearts the grace
To follow feet that long ago have fled,
Among the thronging populace of the dead
To find the welcome of the one dear face?

Nay! Let the souls throng round us! I am I,
And you are you! We should not vainly seek:
Would you not hear, though faint and far my call?
Nay, were we dust, and had no lips to speak,
Our very atoms on the winds blown by
Would meet, and cling, whatever might befall.