The New House
Edward Thomas
NOW first, as I shut the door, I was alone In the new house; and the wind Began to moan. Old at once was the house, And I was old; My ears were teased with the dread Of what was foretold, Nights of storm, days of mist, without end; Sad days when the sun Shone in vain: old griefs and griefs Not yest begun. All was foretold me; naught Could I foresee; But I learnt how the wind would sound After these things should be
