POEMS.
83
There are statues in the shadows,
In gray grandeur standing lone,
Gazing mutely o'er green meadows
Where bright buttercups are blown.
In gray grandeur standing lone,
Gazing mutely o'er green meadows
Where bright buttercups are blown.
And through peering long and surely,
Marble fountains I can see,
Where white crystal waters purely
Move in mystic melody.
Marble fountains I can see,
Where white crystal waters purely
Move in mystic melody.
Who lives there beyond the gables
Of that house so calm and still?
Folks do speak in old wives' fables
Of that house below the hill.
Of that house so calm and still?
Folks do speak in old wives' fables
Of that house below the hill.
And they say a poor mad lady
Paces idly on the walk,
In and out the grottoes shady
With a strange fantastic talk.
Paces idly on the walk,
In and out the grottoes shady
With a strange fantastic talk.
And her hair is downward streaming,
Unconfined by net or pin,
Floating with the wondrous gleaming
Of the gold that lies within.
Unconfined by net or pin,
Floating with the wondrous gleaming
Of the gold that lies within.
And her eyes have all the sorrow
Of a poor dumb creature's pain,
For to her no kind to-morrow
Brings her reason back again.
Of a poor dumb creature's pain,
For to her no kind to-morrow
Brings her reason back again.
