 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
143
INTROIT.
THIS is the House of Dreams. Whoso is fainTo enter in this shadow-land of mine,
He must forget the utter Summer's shine
And all the daylight ways of hand and brain:
Here is the white moon ever on the wane
And here the air is sad with many a sign
Of haunting myst'ries; here the golden wine
Of June falls never nor the silver rain
Of hawthorns hueless with the joy of Spring;
But many a mirage of pale memories
Curtains the sunless aisles: upon the breeze
A music of waste sighs doth float and sing
And in the shadow of the sad-flowered trees,
The ghosts of men's desire walk wandering.
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |