The Golden Palace

THE Golden Palace where I dwell
Is taller than the roofs of trees:
And there I shriek and there I yell
As loud and often as I please,
And nobody is moved to tell
Me not to laugh, or turn the keys.
Throughout its halls four-footed things
Lumber and snuffle, scratch and lurk;
Across its ceilings birds with wings
Fly (for the gadgets really work);
Then one or other of them sings,
Though sometimes with the slightest jerk.
Deep in the caissons of the roof
Planets revolve, and stars explode.
Here stamps old Taurus with his hoof,
Orion crunches down the road,
Cygnus, the haughty, glides aloof,
And Lyra sounds through my abode.
But, in the drawing rooms, the waves
Pound on the skirtings, piling froth;
And in the butler’s pantry raves
The wild northeaster. Behemoth
Roars in the larder; and the graves
Of Pict and Roman, Gaul and Goth
Below the bedroom carpet lie,
Along with bone of dog and mouse.
Above the rafters spirits cry,
And in the cellars ghouls carouse.
O fortunate, O blessed I,
Who dwell in such a gorgeous house!