  Heaven is like an empty room to-night; From rim to chilly rim Wells the clear radiance of the cold moonlight, And the earth-ways are dim. Who has departed from this perfect place! What fiery one here set His throne in splendor, whom, vanished now, the face Of heaven remembers yet! Emptiness—emptiness—the skies are bare, And the stark earth no less Grows vacant as a memory: everywhere Sleeps the cold loveliness. Old is the earth, too old; her voice is shrill Against the end of things— To the inevitable her bitter will Grows humbler as she sings. Now from my breast the very soul takes flight, Leaving her chambers bare Of all save lonely memory and moonlight— |
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