 | The poet, the fool and the faeries |  |
THE SECRET ROOM
There is a room the soul has set apart,Dark in the House of Dreams and Melody;
A secret room, no eye may ever see,
Hung with the perished passions of the heart:
There once I entered with a Dream of Art,
And sat me down with Love and Memory
Before a harp's decaying ebony,
From whose dim strings, I felt, old ghosts might start.
And suddenly, through some superior will,
My hand went forth and, groping blindly, swept
One chord of chords, hollow with loss and fear;
And all the darkness shuddered and was still:
Then in the silence something near me crept,
And on my hands dropped tear on terrible tear.
| The poet, the fool and the faeries | |