Darkling
Darkling tremors, kiss'd of light --
Fain would they be whisperèd.
Gliding twixt the brink of sight
And rims of wild and fey-touch'd night,
Their eyes are cast from lambent blight --
They sing in dim and dead.
Once were godlings, they, and free --
Riders 'neath the gloaming's wind.
Dancing wintry sanctity,
They daren't admit their brevity
Or falt'ring of their eulogy --
They weave their weft and wend.
Once more beauteous far than all;
Men have turned from pulchritude,
Rather seeking dwellings tall
And leaving former lords to fall --
The Sidhe of old in stagnant pall
Find naught they can allude.
They are darkling, robbed of light,
Wand'rers in their broken ring.
Fain would set themselves aright,
But dispossessed of will to fight
They dream in e'er-decaying night --
In dim and dead they sing.