13

The silence of a City, how awful at Midnight! Mute as the battlements and crags and towers That Fancy makes in the clouds, yea, as mute As the moonlight that sleeps on the steady vanes.

(or)

The cell of a departed anchoret, His skeleton and flitting ghost are there, Sole tenants-- And all the City silent as the Moon That steeps in quiet light the steady vanes Of her huge temples.

1804-5. Now first published from an MS.