The speaker remembers an almost impossibly beautiful palace set in a lush, happy valley, where the monarch Thought ruled in perfect harmony. Golden banners floated on the roof, gentle breezes carried perfume, and through luminous windows you could see spirits moving gracefully to lute music. Echoes sang the king’s wisdom in voices of surpassing beauty. But that was long ago. Evil in robes of sorrow attacked the ruler, and now the valley is a place of ruin. Travelers look through blood-red windows and see monstrous forms lurching to a discordant beat. A ghastly river of figures pours from the door, laughing without a trace of a smile. The mood shifts from serene wonder to deep grief and finally to horror. It is hard not to feel this as a portrait of a mind unraveling: a radiant intellect that falls into madness, leaving only twisted chaos behind.
The Haunted Palace — Summary
In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace-- Radiant palace--reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion-- It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow, (This--all this--was in the olden Time long ago), And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tunëd law, Bound about a throne where, sitting (Porphyrogene!) In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate. (Ah, let us mourn!--for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate !) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh--but smile no more.