All the moon-shed nights are over, <br />And the days of gray and dun; <br />There is neither may nor clover, <br />And the day and night are one. <br /> <br />Not an hamlet, not a city <br />Meets our strained and tearless eyes; <br />In the plain without a pity, <br />Where the wan grass droops and dies. <br /> <br />We shall wander through the meaning <br />Of a day and see no light, <br />For our lichened arms are leaning <br />On the ends of endless night. <br /> <br />We, the children of Astarte, <br />Dear abortions of the moon, <br />In a gay and silent party, <br />We are riding to you soon. <br /> <br />Burning ramparts, ever burning! <br />To the flame which never dies <br />We are yearning, yearning, yearning, <br />With our gay and tearless eyes. <br /> <br />In the plain without a pity, <br />(Not an hamlet, not a city) <br />Where the wan grass droops and dies.<br /><br />Ernest Christopher Dowson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-three-witches-2/
