The House Of Song

Unto the portal of the House of Song, Symbols of wrong and emblems of unrest, And mottoes of despair and envious jest, And stony masks of scorn and hate belong.

Who enters here shall feel his soul denied All welcome; where the chiselled form of Love Stares down in marble on the shrine above The tomb of Beauty where he dreamed and died.

Who enters here shall know no poppy flowers Of Rest, or harp-tones of serene Content; Only sad ghosts of music and of scent Shall mock his mind with their remembered powers.

Here must he wait till striving Patience carves His name upon the century-storied floor; His heart’s blood staining one dim pane the more In Fame’s high casement while he sings and starves.