THIS is the house where I was bred: The wind blows through it without stint, The wind bitten by the roadside mint; Here brake I loaf, here climbed to bed. The fuchsia on the window sill; Even the candlesticks a-row, Wrought by grave men so long ago -- I loved them once, I love them still. Southward and westward a great sky! -- The throb of sea within mine ear -- Then something different, more near, As though a wistful foot went by. Ghost of a ghost down all the years! -- In low-roofed room, at turn of stair, At table-setting, and at prayer, Old wars, old hungers, and old tears! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RICH AND POOR; OR, SAINT AND SINNER by THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK TO HIS DEAD BODY by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE END OF THE DAY by DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT ODES: BOOK 1. ODE 1. PREFACE by MARK AKENSIDE AN AUTUMN NIGHT by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS WHY? by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |