Beside the highway stands a ruined inn, Luxuriant moss has spread its roof all o'er; No voice is heard, no footstep makes a din; The grass is waving at the open door. Winds whistle freely thro' the broken panes— A ghostly echo of forgotten strains. The cheerful hearth that once was used to throw Its light and warmth thro' every friendly room, And cast its gleam far out on drifting snow, Is bare and vacant as a rifled tomb. Grim desolation broods about the spot, With mildew odors, like sepulchral rot. Yet I remember in the bygone years, When Weller's four-horse, yellow equipage Came whirling from Toronto, 'mid the cheers Of villagers who came to meet the stage. No gayer place than this could then be found For many miles the country side around. Old Amos and his pretty daughter Kate Then ruled benignant over bar and board. O! how I loved her, O! how I did hate The man who married her whom I adored. How strange and far away it all now seems That time of sunrise and of boyish dreams. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LEISURE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES DEATH STANDS ABOVE ME by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR SONNET: 144 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE JIM DALLEY by ALEXANDER ANDERSON A JAPANESE DWARF TREE by ISABEL ANDERSON SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 33. RED DAWN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) CLOUD-CLIMBING by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON HOPE DEFERRED by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 67. THE THREE AGES OF WOMAN: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |