The New House
Now first, as I shut the door,I was aloneIn the new house; and the windBegan to moan.
Old at once was the house,And I was old;My ears were teased with the dreadOf what was foretold,
Nights of storm, days of mist, without end;Sad days when the sunShone in vain: old griefs and griefsNot yet begun.
All was foretold me; naughtCould I foresee;But I learned how the wind would soundAfter these things should be.
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