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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455589" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Empty Houses</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I </div><div style="margin:10px 0">THERE’S not a person in the street, <br> This merry-making summer day! <br> The houses stand in dull array; <br>No profit on their doors to beat, <br> For all their owners are away. <br> <br>The gardens blossom white and red <br> All solitary in the sun, <br> Save where some timid creatures run; <br>Secure across the lawns to tread, <br> No human dangers here to shun,— <br> <br>Since men have gone on holiday; <br> Have left the still, suburban street <br> For that wide park, where people meet <br>In pleasures till the eve is grey. <br> Oh, but the home-coming is sweet! <br> <br>II </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There’s not a person in the street <br> Where wandering in grief I go. <br> These strange small houses, set in row, <br>Send out no human form to greet, <br> No busy footfalls to and fro. <br> <br>Tall poplars raise their shafts beside; <br> And mingled shades and sunbeams bless <br> God’s Acre, in its quietness— <br>God’s town, where men are drawn to bide <br> Untroubled by the world’s distress. <br> <br>There comes no opening of the gate, <br> Though to my friend I plead and pray. <br>‘Patience!’ the trees and sunbeams say. <br>‘Here only empty houses wait, <br> While souls are keeping holiday.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Colborne-Veel">Mary Colborne-Veel</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=455589" data-title="Empty Houses de Mary Colborne-Veel" data-description="I 

THERE’S not a person in the street, 
 This merry-making summer day! 
 The houses stand in dull array; 
No profit on their doors to beat, 
 For all their owners are away. 
 
The gardens blossom white and red 
 All solitary in the sun, 
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