THE old house leans upon a tree <br />Like some old man upon a staff: <br />The night wind in its ancient porch <br />Sounds like a hollow laugh. <br /> <br />The heaven is wrapped in flying clouds, <br />As grandeur cloaks itself in gray: <br />The starlight flitting in and out, <br />Glints like a lanthorn ray. <br /> <br />The dark is full of whispers. Now <br />A fox-hound howls: and through the night, <br />Like some old ghost from out its grave, <br />The moon comes, misty white.<br /><br />Madison Julius Cawein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/deserted-12/
