Classic Poem

The Indian summer sky is sapphirine,
The earth a lustrous opal, and on all
Is heavenly beauty. Windless trees let fall
Showers of leaves upon the grass yet green
About a mansion sheltered in between
Two hazy hills — an old colonial hall.
Deserted now, from drawing-room to stall
Darkened and silent. Here such life was seen
In other days as we may see no more —
The stately courtesy, the gallant air,
The fireside grace, the feast, the minuet.
I force the battered, cobwebbed oak door,
And evening sunshine gilds the dusty stair
Where ghosts are said to walk in beauty yet.