The old house by the lindens <br />Stood silent in the shade, <br />And on the gravelled pathway <br />The light and shadow played. <br /> <br />I saw the nursery windows <br />Wide open to the air; <br />But the faces of the children, <br />They were no longer there. <br /> <br />The large Newfoundland house-dog <br />Was standing by the door; <br />He looked for his little playmates, <br />Who would return no more. <br /> <br />They walked not under the lindens, <br />They played not in the hall; <br />But shadow, and silence, and sadness <br />Were hanging over all. <br /> <br />The birds sang in the branches, <br />With sweet, familiar tone; <br />But the voices of the children <br />Will be heard in dreams alone! <br /> <br />And the boy that walked beside me, <br />He could not understand <br />Why closer in mine, ah! closer, <br />I pressed his warm, soft hand!<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/by-the-fireside-the-open-window/
