The bodiless spirits waiting chill

In the ports of black Nonentity

For passage to the living land,

Without eyes strive to see,

Without ears strain to hear,

Stretch an unincarnate hand

In greeting to the hollow hill

Above the insubstantial sea,

The billow curving on the sand,

The bird sitting on the tree;

And in love and in fear

Ensnare the smile, condense the tear,

Rehearse the play of evil and good,

The comedy and the tragedy.

Until the summoned ghosts appear

In patterned march around the hill

Against the hoofed and horned wood