THE POET 217 �Banners yellow, glorious, golden, �On its roof did float and flow (This all this was in the olden �Time long ago), And every gentle air that dallied, �In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, �A winged odour went away. �Wanderers in that happy valley, �Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically, �To a lute's well-tuned law, Round about a throne where, sitting, �( Porphyrogene ! ) In state his glory well befitting, �The ruler of the realm was seen. �And all with pearl and ruby glowing �Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing �And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty �Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, �The wit and wisdom of their king. �But evil things, in robes of sorrow, �Assailed the monarch's high estate. (Ah, let us mourn ! for never morrow �Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory �That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story �Of the old time entombed. �And travellers, now, within that valley, �Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically �To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, �Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever �And laugh but smile no more. �THE CONQUEROR WORM (1843) �[Before interpreting this tragedy in five acts as Foe's philosophy of life, recall the circumstances of its ��� �
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