Gaunt in gloom,
    The pale stars their torches,
    Enshrouded, wave.
    Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,
    Arches on soaring arches,
    Night's sindark nave.

    Seraphim,
    The lost hosts awaken
    To service till
    In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,
    Raised when she has and shaken
    Her thurible.

    And long and loud,
    To night's nave upsoaring,
    A starknell tolls
    As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud,
    Voidward from the adoring
    Waste of souls.

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