Who was the far-off founder of the house, With its red gates abutting to the road? -- A palace, though its outer wings are shorn, And domes of glittering tiles. The wall without Has tottered into ruin, yet remain The straggling fragments of some seven courts, The wreck of seven fortunes: roof and eaves Still hang together. From this chamber cool The dense blue smoke arose. Nor heat nor cold Now dwells therein. A tall pavilion stands Empty beside the empty rooms that face The pine-browed southern hills. Long purple vines Frame the verandahs. Mount the sunken step Of the red, joyous threshold, and shake down The peach and cherry branches. Yonder group Of scarlet peonies hath ringed about A lordly fellow with ten witnesses Of his official rank. The taint of meat Lingers around the kitchen, and a trace Of vanished hoards the treasury retains. . . . . . Who can lay hold upon my words? Give heed And commune with thyself! How poor and mean Is the last state of wretchedness, when cold And famine thunder at the gates, and none But pale endurance on the threshold stands With helpless hands and hollow eyes, the dumb Beholder of calamity. O thou That would protect the land a thousand years, Behold they are not that herein once bloomed And perished; but the garden breathes of them, And all the flowers are fragrant for their sakes. Salute the garden that salutes the dead! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK by ANNE BRADSTREET ON SOME LINES OF LOPE DE VEGA by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) KEATS; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 15. RATHER DEEDS THAN WORDS by PHILIP AYRES THE WIFE'S SONG by ERNEST BENSHIMOL |