BY THE CAM. 
 
TWILIGHT is over, and the noon of night 
Draws to its zenith.  and beyond the stream 
Dance the wild witches that dispel my dream 
Of gardens naked in Diana’s sight. 
Foul censers, altars desecrated, blight 
The corpse-lit river, whose dank vapours teem 
Heavy and horrible, a deadly steam 
Of murder’s black intolerable might. 
 
The stagnant pools rejoice ;  the human feast 
Revels at height ;  the sacrament is come ; 
God wakes no lightning in the broken East ; 
His awful thunders listen and are dumb ; 
Earth gapes not for that sin ;  the skies renew 
At break of day their vestiture of blue. 
 
98