Thin, hollow screams, along the deep descent ...
And now they reached the Earth’s remotest ends.
And now the gates where evening Sol descends,
And Leucas’ rock, and Ocean’s utmost streams,
And now pervade the dusky land of dreams;
And rest at last where souls unbodied dwell
In ever flowery meads of Asphodel,
The empty forms of men inhabit there,
Impassive semblance, images of air!
Pope.