Wearied beside the Shining Gate.
Sad and low,
Flowed in an undertone of woe:
Wailing among the moons it came,
Sobbing in echoes against the stars;
Smothered behind some comet's flame,
Lost in the wind of the war-like Mars,
—Mingling, ever and anon,
With the music's swell a sigh or moan.
"As in a glass,