The Mourner

LO as I lean from out my darkened tower,
Searching the stars in my vain quest for peace;
A slow procession wends its way below,
With measured tread, by lanterns' fitful glow,
And funeral chant whose words now rise, now cease.
Whom bear they to his rest at this late hour?

A hooded figure stops beneath my sill
And raises to my face two haunted eyes.
'Who are you, mourner, and who passeth there?'
'They bear your dreams and I am called despair.'
He answers thus, then turns, the chanting dies
And once again the starlit night is still.

Jean Ferris ~ date unknown