Why are the poplars to-night so aquiver?
So eerily, wildly? What betokens their sound?
The sallow moon has faded long beyond the mound
Distant and dark as foreboding; on the river
Gloomily plunged in silence, leaden and grey
Visions have been scattered amid this dead night.
The poplars alone, upreared upon the height,
Rustle, rustle eerily and skyward sway.
Alone in the night by the silent water here
I stand, as the last mortal. It is my shadow that
Lies earthward before me. To-night I am in fear
Of myself, my own shadow, and I tremble thereat.
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