A very old woman Lives in yon house. The squeak of the cricket, The stir of the mouse, Are all she knows Of the earth and us. Once she was young, Would dance and play, Like many another Young popinjay; And run to her mother At dusk of day. And colours bright She delighted in; The fiddle to hear, And to lift her chin, And sing as small As a twittering wren. But age apace Comes at last to all; And a lone house filled With the cricket's call; And the scampering mouse In the hollow wall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CUMNOR HALL by WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE TO SENECA LAKE by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL QUATORZAINS: 9. TO MY LYRE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES REPRISALS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET BROOK IN DROUGHT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: 'PRENSUS IN AEGAEO' by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |