The Ebb of Day

The ebb of day has now begun;
 The waters to the low west crowd;
 But one forgotten wisp of cloud
 Glows like a fragment of the sun,
 And stranded on the shores of Night,
 Where ‘gainst the sky the telegraph
 Stretching his dim, audacious path
 Defiantly to heaven aspires,
 There lies a maiden, drowned and white—
 The torn Moon tangled in the wires!