 | Poems by William Wetmore Story |  |
253
THE EMPTY HALL.
Through the casement the wind is moaning,
On the pane the ivy crawls,
The fire is faded to ashes,
And the black brand, broken, falls.
On the pane the ivy crawls,
The fire is faded to ashes,
And the black brand, broken, falls.
The voices are gone, but I linger,
And silence is over all;
Where once there was music and laughter
Stands Death in the empty hall.
And silence is over all;
Where once there was music and laughter
Stands Death in the empty hall.
There is only a dead rose lying,
Faded and crushed on the floor;
And a harp whose strings are broken,
That Love will play no more.
Faded and crushed on the floor;
And a harp whose strings are broken,
That Love will play no more.
| Poems by William Wetmore Story | |