Patiently poverty will tarnish This old house if it is left alone; If riches' brushes, suave with varnish, Will somehow miss this moss, and the cracked stone, Through which the green grass bursts, can but be saved From those glib tools so keen to bevel, Block and glaze, so sharp to plane all waved And beautiful unevenness, to level Alders into hedges and gentians to a lawn. May those, who ruin with repair, be drawn Down other roads, here may old metals Rust like the sumach, let this sodden crust Of brown, rain-honeyed eaves green over with the petals of the roof-flowers' slow rosettes, and through this dust Loose many-footed mildew's tufted tread. What though the living leave it? How the dead Will love the gray and silver skeleton Of their once golden home, and, terrifying none, Return to whisper, till the beams and slanting posts, As boughs with lilacs, blossom with their small, white ghosts | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WORDS IN A CERTAIN APPROPRIATE MODE by HAYDEN CARRUTH HIGH PLAINS RAG by JAMES GALVIN SAPPHIC SUICIDE NOTE by JAMES GALVIN TO SAMUEL COLERIDGE UPON HEARING HIS 'SOME I FEEL LIKE A MOTHERLESS..' by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: LILLI ALM by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |