Seated in my study dreaming, all the air about me teeming,
Images of lost years streaming, broken strands of yesterday –
Through the pane comes moonlight gleaming on my face, O ever seeming
To intrude with clever scheming, secrets hid in every ray –
Might there be a cryptic meaning in this strange, unearthly play
Shining o’er this brittle clay?

Outside my door the wild wind sleeps ‘neath dusky sky and western steeps –
Succumbs the Summer; Winter creeps into my sanctuary –
Into my blood dejection seeps as ‘round a nook a lorn eye peeps,
And sorrow rises from the deeps to clothe this sad-eyed Fairy –
The silence moans, the twilight weeps, and all the world’s contrary –
Lost ghosts glide o’er the prairie.

In the gloaming, beyond the coast, there march the souls I treasure most;
Beneath the crescent moon a hoste of warriors in the fleeting day –
Of treasures lost I surely boast and place my name upon the Post
Which stands like some unliving ghost on the edge of my dismay –
I lift the glass and make the toast to ghosts whom I would fain belay –
Old soldiers lost in the fray.

Some ghosts are living, some are gone to hollow holes in lands unknown
Where starlight gleams as cold as stone and black-eyed demons bar the gate –
A curse it is to be alone, lost in that chilling, timeless Zone
Where ev’ry echo is a groan against the calloused hands of Fate –
There is, in sooth, cause to bemoan a Cosmos laid on slabs of hate,
Whose Lord I dare to inculpate.

My ancestors were men of steel and to them now I must appeal,
For though they’ve passed, they are more real than far-fetch’d gods of make-believe –
O shadows flee! O Satan reel! before whose throne all cowards kneel –
I’ll make no parleys, strike no deal, nor let my mind his lies deceive –
Let others yield, their hearts congeal – I’ll never give nor ask reprieve,
Though he doth my soul bereave.

Father, you have gone to the grave, that mystic realm, that far enclave
Where all my future hopes once clave, while still I searched for the Grail –
The Earth takes back what once she gave no matter how we fret or rave,
And what is free she’ll soon enslave and lead along the ancient trail –
Wash now my heart, my spirit lave! O Goddess underneath the Veil –
‘Gainst thee I shall never rail!

I’ve surely lived in Hell-bent haste, as if there were no time to waste –
Each moment might have been encased, and here the pain of loss allay –
But she beckoned, so I raced until I had myself out-paced,
And left my heart and mind un-braced for dark emotions long at bay –
With sadness now my soul is laced in mounting grief too great to weigh –
Against myself I must inveigh.

Riding now on wave-upon-wave, plunging into the nethermost cave,
Where music swells my soul doth crave, once more my heart to impale –
For though I be so bold, so brave, I’m still, in truth, a simple slave
Who clings to chains within this Nave to withstand the bitter gale –
I cannot walk the path I pave, nor can I gaze beyond the pale –
To be mortal is to fail.

I summon ghosts from far and near to inspire hope and withstand fear,
But ofttimes shed a lonely tear while gazing into the Past –
Too long! too long! those voices dear have failed to grace this yearning ear,
And phantoms vanish while I peer into the dismal gloom so vast –
No ripple on the haunted mere reveals the anchor vainly cast –
I am left alone at last.

O come, bright Maiden, lithe and fair, and guide me to thy hidden lair –
For I am yours, I now declare, against impossibility –
Entwine me in thy silver hair and lift the burden I can’t bear,
As I ascend the arcane stair into thy dark tranquility –
I’ll sit beside thee in thy chair and praise thy high facility –
Blessed rare ability!

A puff of smoke, a sip of wine preserve my memories in brine,
And I take oath: I will be thine, O Maiden fair, O spectral Dame –
Take I this Vision for a sign that you, my Lady, will be mine;
Upon thy breast I shall recline, and lay to rest this mortal frame –
Be thou my Love, my true Ensign, for never will I be the same –
My Love, what is thy name?

Now darkness falls, the Vision’s fled – I must bestir myself to bed,
Content to know my soul is wed to the Sylph of my delusion –
For though my Angel now is dead, when all is done and all is said,
She ever lives within my head, and all else is confusion –
These ghosts are rather real instead, and this is my conclusion –
Dare not call it Illusion!