Deceased are the patrician mansions,
And eternally enfolded in silence
Lost in the frozen quarters of ancient cities,
Where the pinions, caught in a motionless night,
Mourn their lost treasures in diaphanous evenings,
Which descend upon them from the fading sunlight;
Thus, to adorn the tears of these ancient dwellings,
Which are like the dismal tombs of vanished things,
At the quarter hour the carillon bell languidly strews
Its heavy flowers of iron upon the void of the streets.