Poem For Sunday


"The Old Dwelling" by Charles Henry Crandall appeared in The Atlantic in June of 1891:

See how the dwelling trembles to its fall, --
    The wondrous house of life, now leased to death
    How softly in and out moves the light breath,
And gently in the tender-memoried hall
Speaks the loved owner, soon beyond recall!
    In the fast-closing windows glimmereth
    A dying glory, as when sunset saith
Good-night, sweet dreams, and faith and hope to all.

Thus, full of enterprise and joyous trust,
    Perched on a sill, serene and plumed for flight,
        A dove will pause, while ruin round it lies.
So, too, dear soul, although the house be dust,
    Yet thou thyself, now free as morning light,
        Canst find another home, ‘neath other skies.

(Image via 3QD by JR, Action in Phnom Penh, House in the Water - close up, Old Station Habitations, Cambodia. 2009)