So wan, so unavailing,
Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing!
Last night, sphered in thy shining,
A Circe — mystic destinies divining;
To-day but as a feather
Torn from a seraph's wing in sinful weather,
Down-drifting from the portals
Of Paradise, unto the land of mortals.
Yet do I feel thee awing
My heart with mystery, as thy updrawing
Moves thro’ the tides of Ocean
And leaves lorn beaches barren of its motion;
Or strands upon near shallows
The wreck whose weirded form at night unhallows
The fisher maiden's prayers —
“For him!— that storms may take not unawares!”
So wan, so unavailing,
Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing!
But Night shall come atoning
Thy phantom life thro’ day, and high enthroning
Thee in her chambers arrased
With star-hieroglyphs, leave thee unharassed
To glide with silvery passion,
Till in earth's shadow swept thy glowings ashen.