So lifeless and so still,
so motionless and grave,
the flowers lay among old books
and caught the sullen wave.
So dark upon the shores there loomed
a form so monstrous black
and speeding with the salty gust,
the foaming waters on his track.
Where are the sultry summer nights
when rapture hovered like thin smoke,
tell me where I can find the frost
upon the winter's slumb'ring dream.
Oh flowers withered, shrunken, old,
tell me where are the tears I shed,
that night when all was dark, and stars
were dancing on the murky lake?