It seemed that from the westThe live red flame of sunset,Eating the dead blue skyAnd cold insensate peaks,Was loosened slowly, and fell.Above it, a few red starsBurned down like low candle-flamesInto the gaunt black socketsOf the chill insensible mountains.But in the ascendant skies(Cloudless, like some vast corpseUnfeatured, cerementless)Succeeded nor star nor planet.It may have been that black,Pulseless, dead stars aroseAnd crossed as of old the heavens.But came no living orb,Nor comet seeming the ghost,Homeless, of an outcast world,Seeking its former placeThat is no more nor shall beIn all the Cosmos again.Null, blank, and meaninglessAs a burnt scroll that blackensWith the passing of the fire,Lay the dead infinite sky.Lo! in the halls of Time,I thought, the torches are out—The revelry of the gods,Or lamentation of demonsFor which their flames were lit,Over and quiet at lastWith the closing peace of night,Whose dumb, dead, passionless skiesEnfold the living worldAs the sea a sinking pebble.
It seemed that from the westThe live red flame of sunset,Eating the dead blue skyAnd cold insensate peaks,Was loosened slowly, and fell.Above it, a few red starsBurned down like low candle-flamesInto the gaunt black socketsOf the chill insensible mountains.But in the ascendant skies(Cloudless, like some vast corpseUnfeatured, cerementless)Succeeded nor star nor planet.It may have been that black,Pulseless, dead stars aroseAnd crossed as of old the heavens.But came no living orb,Nor comet seeming the ghost,Homeless, of an outcast world,Seeking its former placeThat is no more nor shall beIn all the Cosmos again.Null, blank, and meaninglessAs a burnt scroll that blackensWith the passing of the fire,Lay the dead infinite sky.Lo! in the halls of Time,I thought, the torches are out—The revelry of the gods,Or lamentation of demonsFor which their flames were lit,Over and quiet at lastWith the closing peace of night,Whose dumb, dead, passionless skiesEnfold the living worldAs the sea a sinking pebble.