Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
The House of Death
By Louise Chandler Moulton (18351908)N
Since she went out of the door,—
No footstep shall cross the threshold,
Since she can come in no more.
And mould and blight on the walls,
And silence faints in the chambers,
And darkness waits in the halls,—
Since she went, that day of spring,
Borne in her pallid splendor,
To dwell in the Court of the King:
With robes of silken sheen,
And her wonderful frozen beauty
The lilies and silk between.
But they died long, long ago,—
’Twas the odorous ghost of a blossom
That seemed through the dusk to glow.
With hints of womanly grace,
And her image swims in the mirror
That was so used to her face.
Where the sunshine riots outside;
And the winds are merry and wanton,
With the summer’s pomp and pride.
Where Love has closed the door,
Nor sunshine nor summer shall enter,
Since she can come in no more.