The Broken Fane

I HAD a little house upon a hill,
A little house on lovingkindness built;
Small windows over which the dawn was spilt
Shimmered with gold; across the gentle sill
Love hand in hand walked in and out; nor far
Was the soft influence of the evening star.
The pastoral voice of flutes hung in the air;
Familiar spirits blessed the sacred place,
For the bright benediction of your face
Drew thither all things good and pure and fair....
Gone is the loveliness you brought to me,
My little house is left a broken fane;
Its roof lies gaping for the void to see,
And all my life is full of falling rain.
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