  So wan, so unavailing, Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing! Last night, sphered in thy shining, A Circe—mystic destinies divining; To-day but as a feather Torn from a seraph's wing in sinful weather, Down-drifting from the portals Of Paradise, unto the land of mortals. Yet do I feel thee awing My heart with mystery, as thy updrawing Moves thro' the tides of Ocean And leaves lorn beaches barren of its motion; Or strands upon near shallows The wreck whose weirded form at night unhallows The fisher maiden's prayers— "For him!—that storms may take not unawares!" So wan, so unavailing, Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing! But Night shall come atoning Thy phantom life thro' day, and high enthroning Thee in her chambers arrassed With star-hieroglyphs, leave thee unharassed To glide with silvery passion, Till in earth's shadow swept thy glowings ashen. |
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