While the Lord is sleeping in the master chamber

Footmen file through empty rooms, their silver brooms

Straightening crooked corners, turning the eyelids

Down for the night. The body of black livery

Trails up the red stair, carpeted, uncreaking.

No one drops a mirror. No one breaks a pane of glass.

In the garden, azure has leaked into the well: no odor.

Beyond the woods, hounds go hunting themselves, while

Down in the river a deer lies on its broken face.

You should have known all this before you came.