IV.
In the desolate halls are lying, Gold, blood-red, and browned, Shriveled leaves of Autumn dying, And the shadows o'er them flying Turn them 'round and 'round, Make a dreary sound Thro' the echoing chambers crying In the haunted house.
In the desolate halls are lying, Gold, blood-red, and browned, Shriveled leaves of Autumn dying, And the shadows o'er them flying Turn them 'round and 'round, Make a dreary sound Thro' the echoing chambers crying In the haunted house.