No one goes there now:
For what is left to fetch away
From the desolate battlements all arow,
And the lead roof heavy and grey?
"Therefore," said fair Yoland of the flowers,
"This is the time of Seven Towers."
No one walks there now;
Except in the white moonlight
The white ghosts walk in a row;
If one could see it, an awful sight,—
"Listen!" said fair Yoland of the flowers,
"This is the tune of Seven Towers."
But none can see them now,
Though they sit by the side of the moat,
Feet half in the water, there in a row,
Long hair in the wind afloat.
"Therefore," said fair Yoland of the flowers,
"This is the tune of Seven Towers."
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