Behind the trellis passes the moon of quietude A dearth of glee, hope ever lapsing Cold and haunted by the caustic past The day's fervour and that drawing tide A pall of late obsession Despondence laden, the waters allayed Imperilling winds on the knoll Sorrow's vine besets, hewn mirth ebbs Ephemeral pleasure, undying dourness The night bell drones a fickle chime