In the monarch Thought's dominion

It stood there !

Never seraph spread a pinion.

Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,

(This—all this—was in the olden

Time long ago,)

And every gentle air that dallied,

In that sweet day,

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odour went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw

Spirits moving musically,

To a lute's well-tuned law,

Round about a throne where, sitting

(Porphyrogene !)

In state his glory well befitting,

The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing

Was the fair palace-door,

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,

And sparkling evermore,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty

Was but to sing,

In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch's high estate.

(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home, the glory

That blushed and bloomed

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

And travellers now, within that valley,

Through the red-litten windows see

Vast forms, that move fantastically

To a discordant melody,