These lone waters, still and chilly
(Night’s nose in the lolling lily);
By these toppling crags,—no river
Murmurs near, no leaflets quiver—
All so dark and dead and chilly;
By these dank woods, by the swamp,
Where the toad and bull-frog romp;
By these dismal tarns, by the holes
Where dwell the Ghouls—
Poor damp souls!