THE old house stands in a pasture lot, Battered and boarded and quite forgot. Its door-sills yawn and its windows stare, It's a long, long time since folk lived there— Yet a neighbour's boy declares to me That the house is as full as a house can be! The Wind lives up on the topmost floor, (Has lived there fifteen years and more) And every night that he stays at home You can hear him practice his saxophone— Long-drawn-out notes with a sobbing swell Are bits which he does extremely well. The Sun has a lease of the southern side, Its climbing vines are his special pride, For, like many another travelling-man, He gardens a bit wherever he can— A first-class tenant, always bright And never known to be out at night. In the cool, north suites across the hall You might think that nobody lived at all, But their rents are paid, most punctually, By the Field-Mouse, Limited, Company— The "limited" means, as no doubt you've guessed, Not more than twenty to a nest! The kitchen flat, though somewhat bare, Is a busy place for the Bees live there. "The Busy Bees" is their business sign— I'd rather it were theirs than mine! For the gold they add to their honeyed store, Is never enough, they must gather more. Do you see that hole in the pantry floor? It is Mr. Chipmunk's cellar door— He is down there now, in a dreadful fuss, For he knows no good of the likes of us, And his knowledge of life leads him to fear That nuts aren't safe with a boy too near— In the wide west porch with its crumbling dome, Live the Misses Bird, who were "not at home"— They never are though you stay and stay, But they come right back when you go away— "It's because they are very shy, you see," The neighbor boy explained to me. We wandered back through the swinging gate, Where the path and the highway separate, And the sign "To Let" was plainly seen, Above the lilac's dusty green, And I wondered what the tenants thought— An empty house? Well, empty of what? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ESSAY ON STONE by HAYDEN CARRUTH NO MATTER WHAT, AFTER ALL, AND THAT BEAUTIFUL WORD SO by HAYDEN CARRUTH FOR ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE by MALCOLM COWLEY WHEN I RISE UP by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A JOYFUL SONG OF FIVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |