 | Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy |  |
160
IN THE DUNGEON AT CHILLON
I passed through Chillon's heavy prison door—
For those who entered there all hope was vain;
The air was pale with centuries of pain,
The light lay ghastly green on vault and floor.
Methought men wan, and, save for patience, poor,
At every pitiless pillar clanked a chain,
Paced their one step, and then repaced again,
And so to softness even hard earth wore.
For those who entered there all hope was vain;
The air was pale with centuries of pain,
The light lay ghastly green on vault and floor.
Methought men wan, and, save for patience, poor,
At every pitiless pillar clanked a chain,
Paced their one step, and then repaced again,
And so to softness even hard earth wore.
What hand, I cried, can give these liberty?
Guides led me to a dark, unvaulted room,
Showed me in living rock a bed aslope,
And o'er, a rafter and a swaying rope:
Here did they sleep the night before their doom,
And they slept well, for Death would set them free.
Guides led me to a dark, unvaulted room,
Showed me in living rock a bed aslope,
And o'er, a rafter and a swaying rope:
Here did they sleep the night before their doom,
And they slept well, for Death would set them free.
| Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy | |