Page:National Lyrics.pdf/317



I seem like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but me departed.

thou yon grey gleaming hall, Where the deep elm-shadows fall? Voices that have left the earth Long ago, Still are murmuring round its hearth, Soft and low: Ever there;—yet one alone Hath the gift to hear their tone.