The dark accumulated shade lies deep
As all the dead year's leaves, beneath the new
Recurrent verdure: such a shade as seems
To still the tread, & weight the wings of speech
With velvet silences, so that our words
O'er hidden thoughts flit low & languidly,
Like pale crepuscular moths that gleam & droop
Over an unseen garden. Here we sit,
As prisoned in some block of lambent jade,
Through which the light waves dim as through the sea,
While all the outer world, in spires of heat,
Winds white about us, tapering to a flame.