there is a wall that housed a fiend

whose song was was heard as from afar,

across a space unintervened,

through doors some fool had left ajar.

that wall is rent, the singing stone

has sung its last and now lies silent

(it, after all, is just a stone).

of other worlds we're left inscient.

the rivulet may trickle forth

but singing wall will sing no more.

the devil's interred under swarth

that's glazed within an inch of hoar.

as the galaxies abscond

the limits of our sphere of view

infernal song from worlds beyond

was one a privileged audience knew.

none on our side ever will

hear the devil's song again-

at least, perhaps, never until

we too within the earth are lain.