The day is ended! Ghostly shadows creep
Along each dim-lit wall and corridor.
The bugle sounds as from some faery shore
Silvered with sadness, somnolent and deep.
Darkness and bars . . . God! shall we curse or weep?
Somewhere a pipe is tapped upon the floor;
A guard slams shut the heavy iron door;
The day is ended--go to sleep--to sleep.
Three times it blows--weird lullaby of doom--
And then to dream while fecund Night gives birth
To other days like this day that is done. .
But Morning . . . does it live beyond the gloom--
This deep black pall that hangs above the earth--
He fears the dark who dares to doubt the sun!