Then on the sky’s sharp shore
Rolled back, a fading tide, and was no more.
No more on spire and ivied window bright!
No more on field and wave!
What now remains, what now remains but night?
Night hopeless, since the moon is in her grave!
II.
Dumb waits the dim, broad land,
Like one who hears, yet cannot understand,
Tidings of grief to come.