Without the sun, or moon, or any star:
And he was like the wreck of what men are,--
A wasted skeleton, that held the crest
Of Time, and bore his motto on his breast!

There came a group before of maladies,
And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze,--
A double monster, with a gloating leer
Fix'd on his other half. They drew them near,
One after one, led onward by Despair,
That like the last of winter glimmer'd there,--
A dismal prologue to his brother Death,
Which was behind, and, with the horrid breath
Of his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on.
And often as they saw the skeleton
Grisly beside them, the wild phantasies
Grew mad and howl'd; the fever of disease
Became wild frenzy--very terrible!
And, for a hell of agony--a hell
Of rage, was there, that fed on misty things,
On dreams, ideas, and imaginings.

And some were raving on philosophy,
And some on love, and some on jealousy,
And some upon the moon; and these were they
That were the wildest; and anon alway
Julio knew them by a something dim
About their wasted features like to him!

But Death was by, like shell of pyramid