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In the monarch Thought's dominion
It stood there !
Never seraph spread a pinion.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
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,