Whereon mine immemorial selves have sate,
Canopied by the triple-tinted glory
Of the three suns forever paled and flown.
I am the specter who returns
And dwells content with his forlorn estate
In mansions lost and hoary
Where no lamp burns;
Who feasts within the sepulcher,
And finds the ancient shadows lovelier
Than gardens all emblazed with sevenfold noon,