That solemn waste is hushed forevermore
And nothing lives, but on the desert sand
Lost souls trace with imperishable hand
The secrets of their mystic, deathly lore.
Like ruins of some vast Titanic war
The shattered desert lies, nor wakes the land
Save in the storm, when at the god's command
The mailed lightning shakes the rocky floor.
All night the caravans of stars go by
In silence. Still the sombre waste-land keeps
Its lonely watch while all the heaven sleeps,
And the lone moon is drowsy in the sky.
How delicate the trembling thrill that leaps
From heart to heart, as the pale star-fires die!