THE Silent House it standeth wide, -- Yea, open is the door; The winds of Peace from every side Blow round it evermore. Unhewn of axe, unmade of hands, its walls so broad and still; Like to a sea the pale gray lands Flow up to the gray sill. Candle were vain, and sun but dim, For here the dark doth cease; Nor drink nor meat is spread for him Who suppeth here with Peace. Arrows speed not, nor hurtling spear, Nor plague cometh to slay; Viol and rebec make no cheer, For Song hath had his day. Grief shattereth here his weary cup; No watch the hours do keep That they may call the red East up, Or soothe the West to sleep. Fashions, desires, dreams, swarming fears, Fade past the threshold gray; One day is as a thousand years, A thousand years one day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PRAIRIE-GRASS DIVIDING by WALT WHITMAN THE PALM-TREE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AN APRIL MORNING by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE TOUCHSTONE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE DEAD DRUMMER; A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM MELANCHOLIA by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |