57605: The Kind Ghosts

<p dir="ltr"> She sleeps on soft, last breaths; but no ghost looms<br> Out of the stillness of her palace wall,<br> Her wall of boys on boys and dooms on dooms.<br> She dreams of golden gardens and sweet glooms,<br> Not marvelling why her roses never fall<br> Nor what red mouths were torn to make their blooms.<br> The shades keep down which well might roam her hall.<br> Quiet their blood lies in her crimson rooms<br> And she is not afraid of their footfall.<br> They move not from her tapestries, their pall,<br> Nor pace her terraces, their hecatombs,<br> Lest aught she be disturbed, or grieved at all.</p>