THE house is empty, and the garden alley, <br />A shadowed aisle of linden and of yew, <br />A marble vase, a glimpse of river-valley <br />Translucent white against transparent blue - <br />A mystery of boxwood and of byway, <br />Beneath barred windows and unopened door, <br />And far below the river like a highway <br />Sweeps on, but brings no travelers any more. <br />Beauty alone is constant; where she chooses <br />A dwelling-place, there would she ever stay; <br />Fortune and friends and fashion though it loses, <br />Beauty more faithful does not pass away, <br />But most deserted, most herself she seems <br />Left to her deep and solitary dreams.<br /><br />Alice Duer Miller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brandon-6/
