The Churchyard

I've found at last an open door,

The only door that's open to me;

Here I'll tarry, lame and sore,

And pass the night, if that may be.

Ah, what a dismal clang was that!

The passing bell, O doleful knell

That tells the tale of some poor soul

Passing to Heaven or to Hell.

Dusky shadows float around me

Phantoms like shreds of cloud,

Dimly gliding, soaring, wavering,

Trailing each its ghostly shroud.

Ho, Phantoms! Hark to my song!

One that will cheer you, sorrowful throng!

Cease your gibb'ring and list to my lay!

Ah! They know me! They've faded away!

Nor the living, nor the dead

Have an ear for aught of me:

Now it's my daily bread to learn

How poor my art must be.

There again the passing bell,

There again the doleful knell;

I wonder if it tolls for me,

This dark, shrouding lullaby.