Where the bells peal far at sea Cunning fingers fashioned me.
There on palace walls I hung While that Consuelo sung;
But I heard, though I listened well, Never a note, never a trill, Never a beat of the chiming bell.
There I hung and looked, and there In my gray face, faces fair Shone from under shining hair.
Well I saw the poising head, But the lips moved and nothing said;
And when lights were in the hall, Silent moved the dancers all.
So awhile I glowed, and then Fell on dusty days and men;
Long I slumbered packed in straw, Long I none but dealers saw;
Till before my silent eye One that sees came passing by.
Now with an outlandish grace, To the sparkling fire I face In the blue room at Skerryvore;
Where I wait until the door Open, and the Prince of Men, Henry James, shall come again.