Gaunt in gloom,
The pale stars their torches,
Enshrouded, wave.
Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,
Arches on soaring arches,
Night's sindark nave.
Seraphim,
The lost hosts
To service
In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,
Raised when she has and
Her thurible.
And long and loud,
To night's nave upsoaring,
A starknell
As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud,
Voidward from the
Waste of souls.
