The old houses of Flanders, They watch by the high cathedrals; They overtop the high town-halls; They have eyes, mournful, tolerant and sardonic, for the ways of men In the high, white, tiled gables. The rain and the night have settled down on Flanders; It is all wet darkness; you can see nothing. Then those old eyes, mournful, tolerant and sardonic, Look at great, sudden, red lights, Look upon the shades of the cathedrals; And the golden rods of the illuminated rain, For a second…. And those old eyes, Very old eyes that have watched the ways of men for generations, Close for ever. The high, white shoulders of the gables Slouch together for a consultation, Slant drunkenly over in the lea of the flaming cathedrals. They are no more, the old houses of Flanders. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BE TRUE [THYSELF] by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 19. THE FAIRY QUEEN PROSERPINA by THOMAS CAMPION ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH by WILLIAM COWPER FRAGMENT 113 by HILDA DOOLITTLE TO HIS COY MISTRESS by ANDREW MARVELL A DEAD HARVEST (IN KENSINGTON GARDENS) by ALICE MEYNELL TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, IN NEW-ENGLAND by PHILLIS WHEATLEY |