From off the moors I’ve heard your moans,
And seen the blood stains on the stones,
The howl of fearful winter storms:
Above the doors I’ve seen the charms.
But were you ever any more
Than breath exhaled in voiceless awe?
A thought which lingered on too long,
And left the anguish clinging on?
And did you taste the cavern’s air:
The dampness, rock and trapped despair?
Your monstrous counting of the space:
The skeletal wrecks through which you pace.
And did the living curse your name,
And weep as lovers fed your shame?