XIX.
Loud sceptic cock, I see thee stand1
Upon thy heap of foul decay,2
And, crowing keen, thy wings expand3
To chase all spectral things away.4
What though the ghosts thy note would scare5
Be Truth’s ideal starry train ;6
Thy voice shall chase the lights of air,7
And turn them into mist again.8
Ah ! no ; a day will surely shine,9
When thou shalt know thy nature’s doom,10
And self-despoil’d of life divine11
Shalt find in mire thy fitting tomb.12