An ode.it reads:
In silent palaces lie sleeping kings;
In solemn places lie the bones of saints;
Where darkness droops the dens of creatures lie;
But this windowed dwelling features me:
I look to see the outward skulking sky
Hid amid the curling cloud which wings
Across the clarity that now might be
Save the thought whose color my mind paints.
What sort of song the coming evening brings!
What type of tomb within will I then lie
When with the wind the whitening wisp it feints
As I, To blue and pass from what you see?