The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman

The Little House

     One yestereve, in the waning light,
     When the wind was still and the
          gloaming bright,
     There came a breath from a far countrie,
     And the ghost of a Little House called
          to me.

     "Have you forgotten me?" "No!" I cried.
     "Your hall was as narrow as this is wide,
     Your roof was leaky, the rain came
          through
     Till a ceiling fell, on my new frock too!

     "In your parlour flooring a loose board hid,
     And wore the carpet, you know it did!
     Your kitchen was small, and the shelves
          were few,
     While the fireplace smoked—and you
          know it's true!"

     The little ghost sighed: "Do you quite
          forget
     My window boxes of mignonette?
     And the sunny room where you used to
          sew
     When a great hope came to you, long ago?

     "Ah, me! How you used to watch the
          door
     Where a latch-key turned on the stroke
          of four.
     And you made the tea, and you poured
          it out
     From an old brown pot with a broken
          spout

     "Now, times have changed. And your
          footman waits
     With the silver urn, and the fluted plates.
     But the little blind Love with the wings,
          has flown,
     Who used to sit by your warm hearth-
          stone."

     The little ghost paused. Then "Away!"
          I said.
     "Back to your place with the quiet dead.
     Back to your place, lest my servants see,
     That the ghost of a Little House calls
          to me."