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.