No dower of storied song is thine, O desolate abode! Forth from thy gates no glittering line Of lance and spear hath flowed. Banners of knighthood have not flung Proud drapery o'er thy walls, Nor bugle notes to battle rung Through thy resounding halls. Nor have rich bowers of @3pleasaunce@1 here By courtly hands been dressed, For Princes, from the chase of deer, Under green leaves to rest: Only some rose, yet lingering bright Beside thy casements lone, Tells where the spirit of delight Hath dwelt, and now is gone. Yet minstrel tale of harp and sword, And sovereign beauty's lot, House of quenched light and silent board! For me thou needest not. It is enough to know that @3here@1, Where thoughtfully I stand, Sorrow and love, and hope and fear, Have linked one kindred band. Thou bindest me with mighty spells! -- A solemnizing breath, A presence all around thee dwells, Of human life and death. I need but pluck yon garden flower From where the wild weeds rise, To wake, with strange and sudden power, A thousand sympathies. Thou hast heard many sounds, thou hearth! Deserted now by all! Voices at eve here meet in mirth Which eve may ne'er recall. Youth's buoyant step, and woman's tone, And childhood's laughing glee, And song and prayer, have all been known, Hearth of the dead! to thee. Thou hast heard blessings fondly poured Upon the infant head, As if in every fervent word The living soul were shed; Thou hast seen partings, such as bear The bloom from life away -- Alas! for love in changeful air, Where nought beloved can stay: Here, by the restless bed of pain, The vigil hath been kept, Till sunrise, bright with hope in vain, Burst forth on eyes that wept: Here hath been felt the hush, the gloom, The breathless influence, shed Through the dim dwelling, from the room Wherein reposed the dead. The seat left void, the missing face, Have here been marked and mourned, And time hath filled the vacant place, And gladness hath returned; Till from the narrowing household chain The links dropped one by one! And homewards hither, o'er the main, Came the spring-birds alone. Is there not cause, then -- cause for thought, Fixed eye and lingering tread, Where, with their thousand mysteries fraught, Even lowliest hearts have bled? Where, in its ever-haunting thirst For draughts of purer day, Man's soul, with fitful strength, hath burst The clouds that wrapt its way? Holy to human nature seems The long-forsaken spot; To deep affections, tender dreams, Hopes of a brighter lot! Therefore in silent reverence here, Hearth of the dead! I stand, Where joy and sorrow, smile and tear, Have linked one household band. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE [OUT OF NORFOLK] by WILLIAM COWPER A SONG [OF DIVINE LOVE] by RICHARD CRASHAW THE SOUND OF THE TREES by ROBERT FROST SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 50 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE WOOD THRUSH by SUSAN SHARP ADAMS TARQUIN AND THE AUGUR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN CONJUGAL CONJUGATIONS by AMERICUS WELLINGTON BELLAW |