Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/135

Rh

is upon thy lonely hearth, O silent house! once fill'd with mirth; Sorrow is in the breezy sound Of thy tall poplars whispering round.

The shadow of departed hours Hangs dim upon thine early flowers; Even in thy sunshine seems to brood Something more deep than solitude.

Fair art thou, fair to a stranger's gaze, Mine own sweet home of other days! My children's birth-place! yet for me, It is too much to look on thee.