Upon the firmament it glideth, a phantom of the night,
Shapen like the darksome vulture that seeketh out its prey;
It casteth no reflection, nor heraldeth its flight,
But hideth in the secret clouds, far from the light of day.
The iron thunder of its heart is muffled in the deep,
And like the silent scavenger, it hovereth on high;
While all the world beneath its span is lulled into sleep,
It passeth as a fleeting ghost across the vaulted sky.