It listens, huddled in a clump of trees, For feet that seek its path no more at all; Only the winds go in and out, and bees That have their storehouse in a ruined wall. Only a vine comes creeping back in spring To coax it into fragrant memory, -- Sensing how lost and desolate a thing A house abandoned in old age can be. More dingy and more shrunken in the sight Of greening hills and orchards lit with bloom, The house peers out between its trees till night Has blinded it, and in the thickened gloom, An old vine breathes remembrance on the airs That prowl the rooms and silence-drifted stairs. . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INGRATEFUL [OR UNGRATEFUL] BEAUTY THREATENED by THOMAS CAREW ALASTOR; OR, THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY DIRGE FOR THE LATE JAMES CURRIE, M.D., OF LIVERPOOL by LUCY AIKEN A SONNET. THE ROSE AND LILY by PHILIP AYRES AGNOSTIC TO MYSTIC by WILLIAM ROSE BENET HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 12 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE CHAMBER by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 40. COME AWAY! BRING ON THE BRIDE by THOMAS CAMPION |