One tone is mute within the starry singing,The unison fulfilled, complete before;One chord within the music sounds no more,And from the stir of flames forever wingingThe pinions of our sister, motionlessIn pits of indefinable duress,Are fallen beyond all recoveryBy exultation of the flying dance,Or rhythms holding as with sleep or tranceThe maze of stars that only death may free—Flung through the void's expanse.In gulfs depressed nor in the gulfs exaltedShall shade nor lightening of her flame be found;In space that litten orbits gird around,Nor in the bottomless abyss unvaultedOf unenvironed, all-outlying night.Allotted gyre nor lawless comet-flightShall find, and with its venturous ray returnFrom gloom of undiscoverable scope,One ray of her to gladden into hopeThe doubtful eyes denied that truthward yearn,The faltering feet that grope.Beyond restrainless boundary-nights surpassingAll luminous horizons limited,The substance and the light of her have fedRuin and silence of the night's amassing:Abandoned worlds forever morningless;Suns without worlds, in frory beamlessnessGirt for the longer gyre funereal;Inviolate silence, earless, unawakingThat once was sound, and level calm unbreakingWhere motion's many ways in oneness fallOf sleep beyond forsaking.Circled with limitation unexceededOur eyes behold exterior mysteriesAnd gods unascertainable as these—Shadows and shapes irresolubly heeded;Phantoms that tower, and substance scarcely known.Our sister knows all mysteries one alone,One shape, one shadow, crowding out the skies;Whose eyeless head and lipless face debarAll others nameless or familiar,Filling with night all former lips and eyesOf god, and ghost, and star:For her all shapes have fed the shape of night;All darker forms, and dubious forms, or pallid,Are met and reconciled where none is valid.But unto us solution nor respiteOf mystery's multiform incessancyFrom unexplored or system-trodden skyShall come; but as a load importunate,Enigma past and mystery foreseenWeigh mightily upon us, and betweenOur sorrow deepens, and our songs abateIn cadences of threne.A gloom that gathers silence looms more closely,And quiet centering darkness at its heart;But from the certitude of night departUncertain god nor eidolon less ghostly;But stronger grown with strength obtained from lightThat failed, and power lent by the stronger night,Perplex us with new mystery, and doubtIf these our flames, that deathward toss and fallBe festal lights or lights funerealFor mightier gods within the gulfs without,Phantoms more cryptical.New shadows from the wings of Time unfoldingAcross the depth and eminence of years,Fall deeplier with the broadening gloom of fears.Prophetic-eyed, with planet-hosts beholdingThe night take form upon the face of suns,We see (thus grief's vaticination runs—Presageful sorrow for our sister slain)A night wherein all sorrow shall be past,One with night's single mystery at last;Nor vocal sun nor singing world remainAs Time's elegiast.