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141
PSYCHAURA.
The wind of an autumn midnight
Is moaning around my door—
The curtains wave at the window,
The carpet lifts on the floor.
Is moaning around my door—
The curtains wave at the window,
The carpet lifts on the floor.
There are sounds like startled footfalls
In the distant chambers now,
And the touching of airy fingers
Is busy on hand and brow.
In the distant chambers now,
And the touching of airy fingers
Is busy on hand and brow.
'Tis thus, in the Soul's dark dwelling—
By the moody host unsought—
Through the chambers of memory wander
The invisible airs of thought.
By the moody host unsought—
Through the chambers of memory wander
The invisible airs of thought.
For it bloweth where it listeth,
With a murmur loud or low;
Whence it cometh—whither it goeth—
None tell us, and none may know.
With a murmur loud or low;
Whence it cometh—whither it goeth—
None tell us, and none may know.
142
Now wearying round the portals
Of the vacant, desolate mind—
As the doors of a ruined mansion,
That creak in the cold night wind.
Of the vacant, desolate mind—
As the doors of a ruined mansion,
That creak in the cold night wind.
And anon an awful memory
Sweeps over it fierce and high—
Like the roar of a mountain forest
When the midnight gale goes by.
Sweeps over it fierce and high—
Like the roar of a mountain forest
When the midnight gale goes by.
Then its voice subsides in wailing,
And, ere the dawning of day,
Murmuring fainter and fainter,
In the distance dies away.
And, ere the dawning of day,
Murmuring fainter and fainter,
In the distance dies away.
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