VII.
I am lonely, I am lonely! In the palace of my soul,
As I walk its lofty corridors, I read a mystic scroll,
And it seemed a fearful warning, yet I knew not whence it came,
Writ in wild and wondrous characters of rosy-colored flame;
And a deep voice murmured: ‘Destiny, that wrought thy web of life,
Hath inwoven fierce unrest, brilliant dreams, and fiery strife.
And this solemn spell shall bind thee, be thy shrinking what it may,
Strength, and Faith, and earnest Suffering to thy latest earthly day!’
Ever since a dusky Presence seemeth phantom-like to brood,
Dim and shadowy and tearful, o’er my haunted solitude;
And a wind-harp waileth lowly ‘mid the swell of joyous song,
Breathing from the lips of beauty o’er the listening festal throng.