AS evening shaped I found me on a moor
 Which sight could scarce sustain:
 The black lean land, of featureless contour,
 Was like a tract in pain.

 "This scene, like my own life," I said, "is one
 Where many glooms abide;
 Toned by its fortune to a deadly dun--
 Lightless on every side.

 I glanced aloft and halted, pleasure-caught
 To see the contrast there:
 The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought,
 "There's solace everywhere!"

 Then bitter self-reproaches as I stood
 I dealt me silently
 As one perverse--misrepresenting Good
 In graceless mutiny.

 Against the horizon's dim-descernèd wheel
 A form rose, strange of mould:
 That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feel
 Rather than could behold.

 "'Tis a dead spot, where even the light lies spent
 To darkness!" croaked the Thing.
 "Not if you look aloft!" said I, intent
 On my new reasoning.

 "Yea--but await awhile!" he cried. "Ho-ho!--
 Look now aloft and see!"
 I looked. There, too, sat night: Heaven's radiant show
 Had gone. Then chuckled he.