Of ivy-clad chateaux, where, undisturbed,
Arachne plies her gossamer loom, filming
The sumptuous tapestries, embroidered o’er
With flowers and gay Ovidian phantasies,
And the refulgent mirrors, long ago
Wafted in argosies from the lagunes
Of wealthy Venice. Through the silent night,
The rippling shadows of the ancient trees
Dapple the floors, and ’neath the fireless hearths,
The crickets chirrup shrill—while from the walls