Down By The Waters Of The Sea, Reigns The King Of Never-To-Be. His Palace Walls Are Black With Night; His Torches Star And Moon'S Light, And For His Timepiece Deep And Grave Beats On The Green Unhastening Wave. Windswept Are His High Corridors; His Pleasance The Sea-Mantled Shores; For Sentinel A Shadow Stands With Hair In Heaven, And Cloudy Hands; And Round His Bed, King'S Guards To Be, Watch Pines In Iron Solemnity. His Hound Is Mute; His Steed At Will Roams Pastures Deep With Asphodel; His Queen Is To Her Slumber Gone; His Courtiers Mute Lie, Hewn In Stone; He Hath Forgot Where He Did Hide His Sceptre In The Mountain-Side. Grey-Capped And Muttering, Mad Is He - The Childless King Of Never-To-Be; For All His People In The Deep Keep Everlasting Fast Asleep; And All His Realm Is Foam And Rain, Whispering Of What Comes Not Again.