Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/49

 An everlasting conscious inanition! We yearn for speedy death in full fruition, Dateless oblivion and divine repose.

Large glooms were gathered in the mighty fane, With tinted moongleams slanting here and there; And all was hush: no swelling organ-strain, No chant, no voice or murmuring of prayer; No priests came forth, no tinkling censers fumed, And the high altar space was unillumed.

Around the pillars and against the walls Leaned men and shadows; others seemed to brood Bent or recumbent in secluded stalls. Perchance they were not a great multitude Save in that city of so lonely streets Where one may count up every face he meets.

All patiently awaited the event Without a stir or sound, as if no less Self-occupied, doomstricken, while attent. And then we heard a voice of solemn stress From the dark pulpit, and our gaze there met Two eyes which burned as never eyes burned yet: