A Spring Harvest/The House of Eld

by Geoffrey Bache Smith

THE HOUSE OF ELD

Now the old winds are wild about the house,
 And the old ghosts cry to me from the air
Of a far isle set in the western sea,
 And of the evening sunlight lingering there.

Ah! I am bound here, bound and fettered,
 The dark house crumbles, and the woods decay,
I was too fain of life, that bound me here;
 Away, old long-loved ghosts, away, away!