Classic Poem

The ancient spiderwebs of all the halls
Reflect the twilight fires of amethyst;
Each balcony 'mid rains and trees recalls
In faded hues some story time has missed.

It seems as though a dance of long ago
Would waken in this twilight lone and fair;
The soil is wet; from the chill branch below
There sounds the muffled sob of love's despair.

A hush — the scent of trampled roses — night,
Wherein the golden lustres gleaming throng;
Down the long avenue there fades from sight
An old coach bearing off — alas! — what song!