Classic Poem

The moon is sailing thro' the calm blue sky,
The village clock the knell of night hath rung,
While o'er these solitudes silence hath flung
Her magic awe. No stream now murmurs by;
The west wind sleeps within his hollow cell;
Ev'n Philomel hath her sweet song deferr'd:
One only one foreboding voice is heard,
Which doth within the wanderer's bosom dwell.
Dark visions now obscure the path I tread;
Methinks the earth seems but a mighty tomb,
And those that listless sleep, the peaceful dead,
Destin'd no more to rise in cheerful bloom;
While yonder moon, sole mourner left to weep,
Doth o'er a shrouded world sad vigil keep.