Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/343



thee to my mystic Feast, Each one thou lovest is gather'd there; Yet put thou on a mourning robe, And bind the cypress in thy hair. The hall is vast, and cold, and drear; The board with faded flowers is spread; Shadows of beauty flit around, But beauty from which bloom has fled;

And music echoes from the walls, But music with a dirge-like sound; And pale and silent are the guests, And every eye is on the ground.