The Moon, a ghost of her sweet self, And wading through a watery cloud, Which wraps her lustre like a shroud, Creeps up the gray, funereal sky, Wearily! how wearily! The Wind, with low, bewildered wail A homeless spirit, sadly lost, Sweeps shuddering o'er the pallid frost, And faints afar, with heart-sick sigh, Drearily! how drearily! And now a deathly stillness falls On earth and heaven, save when the shrill, Malignant owl o'er heath and hill Smites the wan silence with a cry, Eerily! how eerily! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AGING TOGETHER by CLARENCE MAJOR DECEPTION PASS; FOR JUDY AND MARK KAWASAKI by KAREN SWENSON RUINES OF ROME by JOACHIM DU BELLAY SANDALPHON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PSALM 65 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE MADMAN I HAVE BEEN CALLED by WILLIAM BLAKE LOST TREASURE by MATHILDE BLIND |