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Night and Morning.
Suggested by Chopin's Funeral March.
I.
In the grey cathedral,
In the aisles of twilight,
Wails an awful music,
Whelming my drowned spirit
Fathom-deep in woe.
The hoar stone of ages
Palpitates disaster,
Breathes aware with sorrow,
Weighs me down to death!
All the immense wan spaces
Pregnant with dead faces,
Cold, carven forms arise!
And grey walls bring forth!
Vasty vans of darkness,
Swordsweeps of desolation,
Hound me to dim death!
Born from the deep ocean
