AN old colonial fire-place! What memories cling around it! Such quaint carved frame, such hallowed stone, I'd often dreamed that I might own, And now at last I've found it. It graced a sporting squire's hall -- Those pegs once held his rifle -- Long years before the sordid clown, Who bought the mansion, tore it down And sold this for a trifle. He was, in truth, a sordid wretch This clod who took my money. "I wonder why folks get so daft About such junk," he said and laughed, As though he thought it funny. Poor wretch, indeed! What soul had he To conjure up the spirit of kindly cheer and olden grace That once endowed that fire-place, And still is hovering near it? But I, who've starved in rented flats, How could I help but love it? And so I've stored my prize away Against the coming of that day When I'll be master of it. And you, my friends, you, too, shall bless The happy day I found it, For I'll invite you all to call As soon as I've the wherewithal To build a house around it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HARD TIMES IN ELFLAND; A STORY OF CHRISTMAS EVE by SIDNEY LANIER BONNYBELL: THE GRAY SPHEX by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BELLS OF LYNN; HEARD AT NAHANT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SPRING'S WELCOME, FR. ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE by JOHN LYLY ALFRED THE HARPER by JOHN STERLING (1806-1844) ON THE PROJECTED KENDAL AND WINDERMERE RAILWAY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |