UNTOUCHED through all severity of cold; Inviolate, whate'er the cottage hearth Might need for comfort, or for festal mirth; That Pile of Turf is half a century old: Yes, Traveller! fifty winters have been told Since suddenly the dart of death went forth 'Gainst him who raised it, -- his last work on earth: Thence has it, with the Son, so strong a hold Upon his Father's memory, that his hands, Through reverence, touch it only to repair Its waste. -- Though crumbling with each breath of air, In annual renovation thus it stands -- Rude Mausoleum! but wrens nestle there, And red-breasts warble when sweet sounds are rare. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CHRISTMAS CAROL, SUNG TO THE KING IN THE PRESENCE AT WHITEHALL by ROBERT HERRICK ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD, 1770 by PHILLIS WHEATLEY ON THE MOOR by ROBERT ADAMSON (1832-) A SOUTHERN NIGHT by MATTHEW ARNOLD CANADA by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |