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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=448032" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Deserted House</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To the sweet memory of Sidney Lanier</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The old house stands deserted, gray,<br>With sharpened gables high in air,<br>And deep-set lattices, all gay<br>With massive arch and framework rare;<br>And o’er it is a silence laid,<br>That feeling, one grows sore afraid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The eaves are dark with heavy vines;<br>The steep roof wears a coat of moss;<br>The walls are touched with dim designs<br>Of shadows moving slow across;<br>The balconies are damp with weeds,<br>Lifting as close as streamside reeds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The garden is a loved retreat<br>Of melancholy flowers, of lone<br>And wild-mouthed herbs, in companies sweet,<br>’Mid desolate green grasses thrown;<br>And in its gaps the hoar stone wall<br>Lets sprays of tangled ivy fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pebbled paths drag, here and there,<br>Old lichened faces, overspun<br>With silver spider-threads—they wear<br>A silence sad to look upon:<br>It is so long since happy feet<br>Made them to thrill with pressure sweet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Mid drear but fragrant shrubs there stands<br>A saint of old made mute in stone,<br>With tender eyes and yearning hands,<br>And mouth formed in a sorrow lone;<br>’Tis thick with dust, as long ago<br>’Twas thick with fairest blooms that grow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Swallows are whirring here and there;<br>And oft a little soft wind blows<br>A hundred odors down the air;<br>The bees hum ’round the red, last rose;<br>And ceaselessly the crickets shrill<br>Their tunes, and yet, it seems so still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or else, from out the distance steals,<br>Half heard, the tramp of horses, or<br>The bleak and harsh stir of slow wheels<br>Bound cityward; but more and more,<br>As these are hushed, or yet increase,<br>About the old house clings its peace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lizette+Woodworth+Reese">Lizette Woodworth Reese</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=448032" data-title="The Deserted House de Lizette Woodworth Reese" data-description="To the sweet memory of Sidney Lanier

The old house stands deserted, gray,
With sharpened gables high in air,
And deep-set lattices, all gay
With massive arch and framework rare;
And o’er it is a silence laid,
That feeling, one grows sore afraid..."></div>
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