Come, come away! —
White was this house of ours,
Vanished to-day;
Warm in the shrubs and flowers,
Radiant in rainbow showers,
Facing the sunset's towers,
Golden as they.

House of desire! —
Born that there poets might
Sleep and aspire
Fragrant in full-moon light,
Rustling her vines by night,
Watching the comet's bright
Midsummer fire!

Let us be gone!
Foully her rafters smolder
In the gray dawn;
And the black chimney shoulder,
Lone as the mountain bowlder,
Stands, while the winter's colder
Winds come on.