THERE is a house in a city street Some past ones made their own; Its floors were criss-crossed by their feet, And their babblings beat From ceiling to white hearth-stone. And who are peopling its parlours now? Who talk across its floor? Mere freshlings are they, blank of brow, Who read not how Its prime had passed before Their raw equipments, scenes, and says Afflicted its memoried face, That had seen every larger phase Of human ways Before these filled the place. To them that house's tale is theirs, No former voices call Aloud therein. Its aspect bears Their joys and cares Alone, from wall to wall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 6 by CONRAD AIKEN WHAT THING A BIRD WOULD LOVE by ROBERT FROST TAPS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE DINNER-PARTY by AMY LOWELL ITALIAN PICTURES: THE COSTA SAN GIORGIO by MINA LOY |