Ghost Music, by Robert Graves

Gloomy and bare the organ-loft, Bent-backed and blind the organist. From rafters looming shadowy, From the pipes’ tuneful company, Drifted together drowsily, Innumerable, formless, dim, The ghosts of long-dead melodies, Of anthems, stately, thunderous, Of Kyries shrill and tremulous: In melancholy drowsy-sweet They huddled there in harmony. Like bats at noontide rafter-hung.