With old old wall-paper, blue and gold!
First I unfold
An Indian shawl ... then a linen sheet ...
Oh ... packets of letters, still faintly sweet ...
“More letters to burn!” I groan, “Dear dear!
But here ... look here!
As I live an old, old violin,
So frail and thin,
And dusky dark in its shapely line;
A shell out-worn; (hear that old wind whine!)