I never pass a human house But another house is there, Too vague, too sad, for man or mouse, Its rafters made of air. Of night's black feathers are its doors, Its roof of woven mist, And in its shadowy corridors Strange phantoms keep their tryst. I never cross a lonely road But another road I see, Where no man travels with his load, No turnpike takes its fee, -- With ancient floods its pools are brimmed; Old footprints mark its edge; But not a swallow ever skimmed Along its withered sedge. I never pass a holy place But another shrine is there, With sorrows written on its face No man or god may share; With sorrows graven on its stone, Washed by ten-thousand rains, And sealed urns whose ashes moan Old lost forgotten pains. I never pass a sleeper's head But another head I see; And Christ -- or Christ's own Mother -- dead Lies there in front of me. O double life, O double death, When will these spells confused Dissolve 'neath some tremendous breath Or be forever fused? When will the house, the road, the shrine, No more their secret keep, And the human face seem as divine Awake, as in its sleep? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GHOSTS OF A LUNATIC ASYLUM by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE ORANGE PICKER by DAVID IGNATOW ARMOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO THE MEMORY OF INEZ MILHOLLAND by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO-MORROW TO FRESH WOODS AND PASTURES NEW' by AMY LOWELL WITH BEST WISHES by DOROTHY PARKER |