AN OLD HOUSE
ILOVE an old house,It is like an aged face,The worn lines,The strange, defeated grace.Sorrow looks through these windowsThrough the crooked glass.And the sill is hollowWhere Death’s feet pass.But there is yet a beauty,A triumph, a haughty thrust;The meek defiance of ancient lovelinessBefore the dust is dust.
ILOVE an old house,It is like an aged face,The worn lines,The strange, defeated grace.Sorrow looks through these windowsThrough the crooked glass.And the sill is hollowWhere Death’s feet pass.But there is yet a beauty,A triumph, a haughty thrust;The meek defiance of ancient lovelinessBefore the dust is dust.
ILOVE an old house,It is like an aged face,The worn lines,The strange, defeated grace.
Sorrow looks through these windowsThrough the crooked glass.And the sill is hollowWhere Death’s feet pass.
But there is yet a beauty,A triumph, a haughty thrust;The meek defiance of ancient lovelinessBefore the dust is dust.