Would that I could press in!—

Into each secret room;

Would that my sleep-bright eyes could win

To the inner gloom;

Gaze from its high windows,

Far down its mouldering walls,

Where amber-clear still Lethe flows,

And foaming falls.

But ever as I gaze,

From slumber soft doth come

Some touch my stagnant sense to raise

To its old earthly home;

Fades then that sky serene;

And peak of ageless snow;

Fades to a paling dawn-lit green,

My dark château.

[Pg 61]

[Pg 61]

THE DWELLING-PLACE

Deep in a forest where the kestrel screamed,

 Prev. P 48/72 next