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