What word have you, interpreters, of men
 Who in the tomb of heaven walk by night,
 The darkened ghosts of our old comedy?
 Do they believe they range the gusty cold,
 With lanterns borne aloft to light the way,
 Freemen of death, about and still about
 To find whatever they seek? Or does
 That burial, pillared up each day as porte
 And spiritous passage into nothingness,
 Foretell each night the one abysmal night
 When the host shall no more wander, nor the light
 Of the steadfast lanterns creep across the dark?
 Make hue among the dark comedians,
 Halloo them in the topmost distances
 For answer from their icy Élysée.

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Of_Heaven_Considered_as_a_Tomb