Now the old winds are wild about the house,— Geoffrey Bache Smith
And the old ghosts cry to me from the air
Of a far isle set in the western sea,
And of the evening sunlight lingering there.
Ah! I am bound here, bound and fettered,
The dark house crumbles, and the woods decay,
I was too fain of life, that bound me here;
Away, old long-loved ghosts, away, away!