In Sicily, a château on a hill stands silent and still,
Perambulating spirits hath here lain hid,
No corporeal vessels vaulting their lingering will,
'Til newly weds appear with their infant kid.
From the shadows, something leaks and speaks,
In the voice of a babe, quoting ancient bards.
The cobwebs won't wash off, the floorboard creaks,
A child's swing fluctuates loose outside in the yard.
"Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is the man
Who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another"
So the little one did sagely and queerly chant,
To the marvelling murmurs of his young mother.
In days of yonder had she wild liaisons spent,
The lustre of love which could now shine for no other.
It was no use, her soul was a thousand ways rent,
The husband caught the clue and left her for another.