Classic Poem

Still, like a city, seated on a height
Appears my soul, and gathered in her place:
Whilst, faintly hovering, swarm about her base,
Still nearer drawing with the nearer night,
Dim cloudlike groups of men and groups of horse,
Outposts and riders of some mightier Force
That lies along the hills; while from them thrown
Rise shadowing shafts with storms of summoning stone,
And the bolt falleth where the cross-bolt fell;
Till Doubt contends with Hope, and Fear conspires
To thwart them both: so that the soul retires
Even to her inmost keep and citadel
And views along the horizon darkening far,
Vague tumult, lights of woe, and moving war.