Classic Poem

The yellow Moon looks slantly down,
Through seaward mists, upon the town;
And like a mist the moonshine falls
Between the dim and shadowy walls.

I see a crowd in every street,
But cannoThear their falling feet;
They float like clouds through shade and light,
And seem a portion of the Night.

The ships have lain, for ages fled,
Along the waters, dark and dead;
The dying waters wash no more
The long, black line of spectral shore.

There is no life on land or sea,
Save in the quiet Moon and me;
Nor ours is true, but only seems,
Within some dead old world of Dreams!