A House with a History

THERE is a house in a city streetSome past ones made their own;Its floors were criss-crossed by their feet,And their babblings beatFrom 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 howIts prime had passed before

Their raw equipments, scenes, and saysAfflicted its memoried face,That had seen every larger phaseOf human waysBefore these filled the place.

To them that house's tale is theirs,No former voices callAloud therein. It aspect bearsTheir joys and caresAlone, from wall to wall.