A tumbledown old house I know – <br />Beside its doorstep burdocks grow; <br />Its narrow windows seem to wince <br />As if it grieves and weeps long since, <br />As if it were already tired <br />Of earthly, beggarly attire. <br /> <br />A cross and well-pole lean outside; <br />The fence is almost nullified; <br />Caved in and crooked, poorly thatched, <br />The roof still hangs, repaired and patched, <br />The straw upon it sticking out, <br />Quite often torn by storms, no doubt. <br /> <br />Where noisy feet at balls once leapt <br />The floor now creaks, unwashed, unswept. <br />Where youthful joy once sang, divine, <br />Dry willows, bent, the pathway line. <br />The yard's in a neglected state; <br />Long since no dog barks at the gate. <br /> <br />The housewife doesn't hear a thing, <br />Though once she'd made young heartstrings ring. <br />The leaves on garden trees scarce shake, <br />So the tired widow shouldn't wake <br />And not be parted with her wealth – <br />Her sleep, her dreams of youth and health.<br /><br />Jurgis Baltrušaitis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-song-of-the-tumbledown-house/
