The Need of Being Versed in Country Things
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- The house had gone to bring again
- To the midnight sky a sunset glow.
- Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,
- Like a pistil after the petals go.
- The barn opposed across the way,
- That would have joined the house in flame
- Had it been the will of the wind, was left
- To bear forsaken the place's name.
- No more it opened with all one end
- For teams that came by the stony road
- To drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs
- And brush the mow with the summer load.
- The birds that came to it through the air
- At broken windows flew out and in,
- Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh
- From too much dwelling on what has been.
- Yet for them the lilac renewed its leaf,
- And the aged elm, though touched with fire;
- And the dry pump flung up an awkward arm;
- And the fence post carried a strand of wire.
- For them there was really nothing sad.
- But though they rejoiced in the nest they kept,
- One had to be versed in country things
- Not to believe the phoebes wept.
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