LONG, long ago in our old street Back from the busy road,
An old deserted stone house stood
Breaking beneath its load.
Such ruin that remained of peaks
Stood out against the skies.
And the memory of old things
Looked from behind its eyes.
In summer time this dead old house
Set in its flowery space.
One likened to a stranger
In a much too friendly place.
In winter time its creaking frame
With all its falling beams,
Was like a sea rocked sailor
Grown weary of his dreams.
It leaned a little westward.
And now I think it knew,
And was waiting other voices
It long had listened to.{3}
Once I was part of this old ruin
When I myself were young.
Out of pity I must leave you
And half the song unsung.