PLANKS

no rays from the holy heaven come down
on the long night time of that town
but light from out the lurid sea streams up the turrets silently
gleams up the pinnacles far and free
up domes - up spires - up kingly halls
up fanes - up babylon-like walls
up shadowy long-forgotten bowers of sculptured ivy and stone flowers
up many and many a marvellous shrine
wose wreathed friezes intertwine
the viol, the violet, and the vine
resignedly beneath the sky the melancholy waters lie
so blend the turrets and shadows there
that all seem pendulous in air
while from a proud tower in the town
death looks gigantically down