At night in the old house of life I lie alone: Spiders have fastened their soft webs, like clouds, between Rafter and ceiling; thereshold and gray floor are grown Heavy with dust, where for so long no foot has been. Mice in the dark of the old walls gnaw at the deep Roots of the night, and softly on the dewy air The cricket's cry comes drifting in -- even in sleep I hear it; but I am too sorrowful to care. Love has left me and Song has left me, and I know I am a harp silent to all those lovely Things That laid such hands upon me here so long ago. Night deepens. Echo slumbers along the strings -- Only the murmur, vaguely felt, of the hushed blood That on the shores of the old dream, like a vast sea, Moves in the darkness, morning; and in the solitude Of my heart's forest a far horn sounds drowsily . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 28 by ALFRED TENNYSON STORM AT SEA (1) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE ON HEARING AN AEOLIAN HARP by PETER BAYLEY JR. THE EPITAPH OF RAPHAEL by PIETRO BEMBO THE POWER OF WOMEN by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS ASOLANDO: WHICH? by ROBERT BROWNING THE STONECUTTER by VALERY YAKOVLEVICH BRYUSOV THE WANDERER: 6. PALINGENSIS: THE SOUL'S SCIENCE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |