The House of Shadows.
173
Though still the Palace is standing,
And the shadows inmates there—
I heard that deep sobbing of music,
Yet herself has no shadow there.
And the shadows inmates there—
I heard that deep sobbing of music,
Yet herself has no shadow there.
All, all then had been but phantoms,
Sad dream of departed hours;
Memories, pictures, fancies,
Now faded like summer flow'rs.
Yet they held me long in possession,
Ev'n now entangle my steps,
Though I fled from the House of Shadows,
With silence upon my lips.
Sad dream of departed hours;
Memories, pictures, fancies,
Now faded like summer flow'rs.
Yet they held me long in possession,
Ev'n now entangle my steps,
Though I fled from the House of Shadows,
With silence upon my lips.
Florence; Nov., 1861.
