Explore "Elsinore" by Helen Gray Cone on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It is strange in Elsinore / Since the day King Hamlet died.
All the hearty sports of yore, / Sledge and skate, are laid aside; / Stilled the ancient mirth that rang, / Boisterous, down the fire-lit halls; / They forgot, at Yule, to hang / Berried holly on the walls. / Claudius lets the mead still flow / For the blue-eyed thanes that love it; / But they bend their brows above it, / And forever, to and fro, / Round the board dull murmurs go: / "It is strange in Elsinore / Since the day King Hamlet died."