I ENTER, and I see thee in the gloom Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine! And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine. The congregation of the dead make room For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine ; Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine From the confessionals I hear arise Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, And lamentations from the crypts below ; With the pathetic words, "Although your sins |