A HOUSE WITH A HISTORY

There is a house in a city street

   Some past ones made their own;

Its floors were criss-crossed by their feet,

      And their babblings beat

   From ceiling to white hearth-stone.

And who are peopling its parlours now?

   Who talk across its floor?

Mere freshlings are they, blank of brow,

      Who read not how

   Its prime had passed before

Their raw equipments, scenes, and says

   Afflicted its memoried face,

That had seen every larger phase

      Of human ways

   Before these filled the place.

To them that house's tale is theirs,

   No former voices call

Aloud therein.  Its aspect bears

      Their joys and cares

   Alone, from wall to wall.

-o0o-