Gaunt in gloom
The pale stars their torches
Enshrouded, wave.
Ghostfires from heaven´s far verges faint illume,
Arches on soaring arches,
Night´s sindark nave.

The lost hosts awaken
To service till
In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,
Raised when she has and shaken
Her thurible.

And long and loud,
To night´s nave upsoaring,
A starknell tolls
As the bleak incense surges, cloud and cloud,
Voidward from the adoring
Waste of souls.

-James Joyce-

Impactos: 4