Oft when some weary city calmly sleeps,
Oblivious for an hour of hate and spite,
The livid moon, with sad, phantasmal light,
Strange vigils in the spotless azure keeps.

In ghostly ways she indolently creeps
Among the sable glories of the night,
And with insidious rays of deadly white
The dreamy town in one pale glamour steeps.

Then, should some mortal with enamoured eye
Gaze on her beauteous presence, chaste and proud,
With maddening joy her luminous fibers beat,
And beams more potent from her brightness fly;
While men can hear the echo long and loud
Of maniac laughter in a startled street!