Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/24

 He circled thus forever tracing out The series of the fraction left of Life; Perpetual recurrence in the scope Of but three terms, dead Faith, dead Love, dead Hope.

Although lamps burn along the silent streets; Even when moonlight silvers empty squares The dark holds countless lanes and close retreats; But when the night its sphereless mantle wears The open spaces yawn with gloom abysmal, The sombre mansions loom immense and dismal, The lanes are black as subterranean lairs.

And soon the eye a strange new vision learns: The night remains for it as dark and dense, Yet clearly in this darkness it discerns As in the daylight with its natural sense; Perceives a shade in shadow not obscurely, Pursues a stir of black in blackness surely, Sees spectres also in the gloom intense.