Lxiii

No songs but what are sorrowful And sweet in pensive notes and words, Shall fill my heart,--as singing birds Might build a nest within a skull.... The nun-like days, in stoles of white, Chant requiems for the dying Year: The monk-like nights about her bier, In cowls of black, with lights that blear, The service for the dead recite. Into my soul the litanies Of life and death strike golden bars: I hear the far, responding stars,-- Uttering themselves within the skies,-- Reverberate from cause to cause Results that terminate in man; From world to world, the rounding plan Of change,--God’s mighty artisan,-- Of which both life and death are laws.