THERE was a house, a house of clay, <br /> Wherein the inmate sat all day, <br /> Merry and poor; <br /> For Hope sat with her, heart to heart, <br /> Fond and kind, fond and kind, <br /> Vowing he never would depart, -- <br /> Till all at once he changed his mind: <br /> "Sweetheart, good by!" He slipped away <br /> And shut the door. <br /> But Love came past, and, looking in, <br /> With smile that pierced like sunbeam thin <br /> Through wall, roof, floor, <br /> Stood in the midst of that poor room, <br /> Grand and fair, grand and fair, <br /> Making a glory out of gloom: -- <br /> Till at the window mocked cruel Care: <br /> Love sighed; "All lose, and nothing win?" -- <br /> He shut the door. <br /> Then o'er the close-barred house of clay <br /> Kind clematis and woodbine gay <br /> Crept more and more; <br /> And bees hummed merrily outside, <br /> Loud and strong, loud and strong, <br /> The inner silentness to hide, <br /> The patient silence all day long; <br /> Till evening touched with finger gray <br /> The bolted door. <br /> Most like, the next step passing by <br /> Will be the Angel's, whose calm eye <br /> Marks rich, marks poor: <br /> Who, fearing not, at any gate <br /> Stands and calls, stands and calls; <br /> At which the inmate opens straight, -- <br /> Whom, ere the crumbling clay-house falls, <br /> He takes in kind arms silently, <br /> And shuts the door.<br /><br />Dinah Maria Mulock Craik<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-house-of-clay/
