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The Desirable Mansion

Edith Nesbit

The long white windows blankly stare
Across the sodden, tangled grass,
Weed-covered are the pathways where
No footsteps ever pass;

No whispers wake, no kisses die,
No laughter thrills the dwindling flowers,
Only the night hears sigh on sigh
From ghosts of long-dead hours.

None come here now to laugh or weep;
The spider spins on stair and hall,
And round the windows shadows creep,
And loathly creatures crawl.

Cold is the hearth; the door is fast;
No guest the silent threshold sees
Save ghosts out of the happy past,
And one who is as these.

Home :: Poetry :: Ghosts of Pain (4) :: The Desirable Mansion

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