Betwixt Two Seas Poems and Ballads (Written at Constantinople and Therapia). By Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |
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A DESERTED PALACE
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A DESERTED PALACE
The Autumn's scatterings on each stair
That lead up from the water's edge,
Lie leaf on leaf, and layer on layer,
And smother every ledge;
That lead up from the water's edge,
Lie leaf on leaf, and layer on layer,
And smother every ledge;
The winding paths, the garden bowers,
Are all with thistles overgrown,
Only the great magnolia flowers
Bloom sadly on alone;
Are all with thistles overgrown,
Only the great magnolia flowers
Bloom sadly on alone;
A serving man, bent, old, and grey,
Leads on towards the palace door,
Adjusts, anon, a rusty key,
And lo, we tread its floor:—
Leads on towards the palace door,
Adjusts, anon, a rusty key,
And lo, we tread its floor:—
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High vaulted as some sacred aisle,
And all so gay with glass and gold,
With bright brocade, and velvet-pile,
The eye aches to behold!
And all so gay with glass and gold,
With bright brocade, and velvet-pile,
The eye aches to behold!
Splendid and vast, yet none the less
A hollow shell, an aimless thing;
A house of Void and Nothingness
Whence Soul hath taken wing.
A hollow shell, an aimless thing;
A house of Void and Nothingness
Whence Soul hath taken wing.
Room after room: green, purple, red,
Crystal and gold (aye, always gold!)
The very echoes must have fled,
Our steps fall sharp and cold.
Crystal and gold (aye, always gold!)
The very echoes must have fled,
Our steps fall sharp and cold.
To grim old mansions, far away,
Where now perpetual silence reigns,
My spirit turns; I see the day
Stream thro' their diamond panes,
Where now perpetual silence reigns,
My spirit turns; I see the day
Stream thro' their diamond panes,
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To light on broider'd arras-fold,
On pictured face, and learnèd tome,
And show that those now lying cold
Once made that house their home,
On pictured face, and learnèd tome,
And show that those now lying cold
Once made that house their home,
Wherein their presence lurks, until
We almost seem to feel their breath,
And catch the fervid throb and thrill
Of hearts long still'd in death;
We almost seem to feel their breath,
And catch the fervid throb and thrill
Of hearts long still'd in death;
But here, what beings lived and died?
—What human sympathies remain?
—What clinging memories abide?
We ask, but ask in vain!
—What human sympathies remain?
—What clinging memories abide?
We ask, but ask in vain!
The minds of Sultan, mistress, slave,
That dwelt within this marble hall,
No passing colour lent or gave:—
Nay, had they minds at all?
That dwelt within this marble hall,
No passing colour lent or gave:—
Nay, had they minds at all?
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Above, below, in every part,
We seem to seek some influence faint,
As men might strive to find the heart
Beneath a harlot's paint,
We seem to seek some influence faint,
As men might strive to find the heart
Beneath a harlot's paint,
Yet find it not: and as, maybe,
In sadness, these might turn aside,
Once more heart-whole and fancy-free
To woo some modest bride,—
In sadness, these might turn aside,
Once more heart-whole and fancy-free
To woo some modest bride,—
E'en thus we quit, as daylight sets,
This mansion, void of hearth or host;
—A place too garish for regrets,
Too empty for a ghost!
This mansion, void of hearth or host;
—A place too garish for regrets,
Too empty for a ghost!
Beïcos, 1895.
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