40
THE HOUSE OF DEATH.
THE HOUSE OF DEATH.
OT a hand has lifted the latchet Since she went out of the door,—
No footstep shall cross the threshold,
Since she can come in no more.
There is rust upon locks and hinges,
And mold and blight on the walls,
And silence faints in the chambers,
And darkness waits in the halls,—
And mold and blight on the walls,
And silence faints in the chambers,
And darkness waits in the halls,—
Waits as all things have waited
Since she went, that day of spring,
Borne in her pallid splendor,
To dwell in the Court of the King:
Since she went, that day of spring,
Borne in her pallid splendor,
To dwell in the Court of the King:
