Shoes that danced and other poems / Anna Hempstead Branch [electronic text]

MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE

THE HEARTH

GOD rest you all that linger here, Though you be strange you still are dear. Peace to your hearts, if you abide, Reflect, and give your souls to cheer.

THE HALL

Oh thou, the youngest of this race Sojourning now in their old place, Think thou kind thoughts and dream fair dreams, For such as this thy line beseems.

THE EAVES

If underneath the quiet eaves You hear the pushing of vague leaves— 'T is these old beams, remembering How sweet the forests were in spring.

THE PORCH

I reach abroad my wistful palms, As beggars cry, "An alms, an alms." Leave thou some kindliness in me That these old rooms may better be.

THE BEST ROOM

All they that spent their days in grace Have left a blessing on this place. Then gentle be that speech that falls, Lest ye offend these placid walls.

THE STAIR

She was so young, so light, so fair! I loved her footfall on the stair, Her voice fell bright through this dim air. I would have kept my dear, but she Like thou —like thou— must pass from me.

THE CHAMBER

I

How intimate and yet how strange! How calm I am that never change. All day I think, as I abide, How many folk have in me died.

II

To sleep, to dream, to smile, to lie And still dream on as night goes by, It may be when thy time shall come It shall not seem more sad to die.

THE DUST

Amid the clinging world I guess Their subtle bands contrive to bless. And from this ancient dust I see Ancestral eyes peer forth at me.

THE KEEPING-ROOM

I

The thorn that by the wayside grows Comforts the pilgrim with a rose. Do thou, like him, to charm thy gloom Perceive the sweetness of this room.

II

If thou perchance shouldst see a face Smile at thee from an empty space, Or feel some presence, do not fear, Those ghosts are kind that loiter here.

III

I met a stranger in this room, He moved about and seemed at home. "Good sir," said I, "what dost thou here?" He turned a pleasant face and said, "A hundred years have I been dead."

THE THRESHOLD

Ye who have come to such an age Ye dream of that Great Pilgrimage, Think not to bid this roof farewell. Lo! our old smiles shall give you rest In those new mansions of the blest.

THE PLASTER ON THE CHIMNEY

These words in time shall pass away And moulder with the mouldering clay. Learn thou that only passing things May know the blessedness of wings.