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.