I To-day my heart is a haunted manor frightened at its own mournfulness. Ghosts of dead memories wander, disconsolate, rattling behind them enormous chains. ... II. To-day the sun is bold and cynical; its mocking rays play roguishly upon old women's eyes— as on rusty lattices— and with impish hilarity mirrors their wrinkled faces. ... III. To-day, my lips— tightly-shut portals to a sombre prison— are guarding gloomily its deluded inmates— my hopeful thoughts! |