MY little House is very young: No shadow makes it grave. With blue-bird-chintz and roses hung Its chamber windows wave. Here never blind-eyed Grief has knocked And entered groping in. The doors, that seem so free, are locked As yet to Death and Sin. Here only happy wondering dreams Walk nightly to and fro. They are the friends of white moon-beams, And simple as the snow. My little House is very young And very unaware That dreams are wrought and songs are sung In any subtler air. Oh might I keep its blue-birds bright, Its hearth still warm and gay! Oh might my House but know delight, And not be dark, some day! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: THE JURY DELIBERATES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE BIRDS by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A WHITE ROSE by JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY THE ALLEY. AN IMITATION OF SPENSER by ALEXANDER POPE CARLYLE AND EMERSON by MONTGOMERY SCHUYLER |