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 grey 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 On 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.
 
By Robert Louis Stevenson.