In the greenest of our valleys 
By good angels tenanted, 
Once a fair and stately palace-- 
Radiant palace--raised its head. 
In the monarch Thought's dominion 
It stood there! 
Never seraph spread a pinion 
Over fabric half so fair! 

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, 
Upon the ramparts plumed and pallid, 
A winged odor went away. 

Wanderers in that happy valley, 
Through two luminous windows, saw 
Spirits moving musically 
To a lute's well-timed 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 everymore, 
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 house of glory 
That blushed and bloomed 
Is but a dim-remembered story 
Of the old time entombed. 

And travelers, 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.