Gaunt in gloom,
	The pale stars their torches,
	Enshrouded, wave.
	Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,
	Arches on soaring arches,
	Night's sindark nave.

	The lost hosts awaken
	To service till
	In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,
	Raised when she has and shaken
	Her thurible.

	And long and loud,
	To night's nave upsoaring,
	A starknell tolls
	As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud,
	Voidward from the adoring
	Waste of souls.

Note: "Joyce drew inspiration for this particular poem from a dream passage that he recorded in his journal Giacomo Joyce. The dream, in turn, grew out of his recollection of a visit that he had made to the cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris during Good Friday devotions." (Fargnoli and Gillespie)

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