THIS is the house where I was bred: The wind blows through it without stint, The wind bitten by the roadside mint; Here brake I loaf, here climbed to bed. The fuchsia on the window sill; Even the candlesticks a-row, Wrought by grave men so long ago -- I loved them once, I love them still. Southward and westward a great sky! -- The throb of sea within mine ear -- Then something different, more near, As though a wistful foot went by. Ghost of a ghost down all the years! -- In low-roofed room, at turn of stair, At table-setting, and at prayer, Old wars, old hungers, and old tears! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...1914: 2. SAFETY by RUPERT BROOKE A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS: 1. HIS EXCUSE FOR LOVING by BEN JONSON ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 9. AT STUDY by MARK AKENSIDE IT IS ENOUGH by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE EVE OF BANNOCKBURN by JOHN BARBOUR |