DEATH

Dark was the sky, and not one friendly star

Shone from the zenith or horizon clear,

Mist sate upon the woods, and darkness rode

In her black chariot, with a wild career.

And from the woods the late resounding note

Issued of the loquacious Whip-poor-will,

Hoarse, howling dogs, and nightly roving wolves

Clamour’d from far off cliffs invisible.

Rude from the wide extended Chesapeke

I heard the winds the dashing waves assail,

And saw from far, by picturing fancy form’d,

The black ship travelling through the noisy gale.

Philip Frenau
(1752-1832), The House of Night.