Across the twilight bloom of thy purple havens,
Far off a phantom stag on the moonyellow highlands
Ceases; and as a shadow, wavers; and passes:
So let Silence seal me and Darkness gather, Piper of Sleep.
Play me a lulling chant, O Anthem-maker,
Out of the fall of lonely seas, and the wind’s sorrow:
Behind are the burning glens of the sunset-sky
Where like blown ghosts the sea-mews wail their desolate sea-dirges:
Make me of these a lulling chant, O Anthem-maker.
No—no—from nets of silence weave me, O Sigher of Sleep,