Swirling (Poem)
One last strain of music plays
 And voices yet to come, they sing
 ‘fore sunset’s shining rays
One last broken-hearted king
 And tales of battles lost, he tells
 ’neath stars and ancient rings
One last peal from lonely bells
 And calls that go unanswered, cry
 of seven-levelled hells
All final pleas, and endless sighs
 Become the past with no reply.