Songs take voice in rampant whisper
'Pon the skyways of the Night,
Where truant Sun's no longer sway
O'er Moon's solitary reign...
As once again I durst there go,
To that lone moss-mantled Keep,
To unfathomed caves, my heart's retreat,
Enlamped but by sad yearning's glow.
There angels' psalms on black winds sound
Their dirge to Dream's descent
To flowered tombs- sarcophagi,
Where, loth to die, dim embers plead.