Classic Poem

One saint to another I heard say, ‘How long?’
I listened, but naught more I heard of the song;
The shadows are gliding through city and plain;
How long shall the night with its shadows remain?

How long ere shall shine, in this glimmer of things,
The light of which prophet in prophecy sings;
And the gates of that city be open, whose sun
No more to the west in its circuit shall run?