Rhymes And Rhythms - XXII

Trees and the menace of night;     Then a long, lonely, leaden mere     Backed by a desolate fell     As by a spectral battlement; and then,     Low-brooding, interpenetrating all,     A vast, grey, listless, inexpressive sky,     So beggared, so incredibly bereft     Of starlight and the song of racing worlds     It might have bellied down upon the Void     Where as in terror Light was beginning to be.     Hist!    In the trees fulfilled of night     (Night and the wretchedness of the sky)     Is it the hurry of the rain?     Or the noise of a drive of the Dead     Streaming before the irresistible Will     Through the strange dusk of this, the Debateable Land     Between their place and ours?     Like the forgetfulness     Of the work-a-day world made visible,     A mist falls from the melancholy sky:     A messenger from some lost and loving soul,     Hopeless, far wandered, dazed     Here in the provinces of life,     A great white moth fades miserably past.     Thro' the trees in the strange dead night,     Under the vast dead sky,     Forgetting and forgot, a drift of Dead     Sets to the mystic mere, the phantom fell,     And the unimagined vastitudes beyond.