AN old colonial fire-place! What memories cling around it! Such quaint carved frame, such hallowed stone, I'd often dreamed that I might own, And now at last I've found it. It graced a sporting squire's hall -- Those pegs once held his rifle -- Long years before the sordid clown, Who bought the mansion, tore it down And sold this for a trifle. He was, in truth, a sordid wretch This clod who took my money. "I wonder why folks get so daft About such junk," he said and laughed, As though he thought it funny. Poor wretch, indeed! What soul had he To conjure up the spirit of kindly cheer and olden grace That once endowed that fire-place, And still is hovering near it? But I, who've starved in rented flats, How could I help but love it? And so I've stored my prize away Against the coming of that day When I'll be master of it. And you, my friends, you, too, shall bless The happy day I found it, For I'll invite you all to call As soon as I've the wherewithal To build a house around it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER TO SON by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES TO LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD, WITH MR. DONNE'S SATIRES by BEN JONSON ELEGIAC SONNET: 2. WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF SPRING by CHARLOTTE SMITH ODE: INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE DIFFERENCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TWO GRANDMOTHERS by IRENE ARCHER SONG: 6 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |