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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—

And Song is silent there.