Classic Poem

The light dim-struggling thro' the dingy panes,
Gave to the smoky walls a twilight hue;
A wind-harp sang in melancholy strains
Whene'er without the passing zephyr blew
And softly stole the casement crevice through.
Beneath the window's dungeon-colored ray
A dark, unvarnished board was spread to view;
Death's head and cross-bones in its centre lay,
Which, when our hero saw, he wished himself away.