House and Man
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NE hour: as dim he and his house now lookAs a reflection in a rippling brook,While I remember him; but first, his house.Empty it sounded. It was dark with forest boughsThat brushed the walls and made the mossy tilesPart of the squirrels' track. In all those milesOf forest silence and forest murmur, onlyOne house--"Lonely!" he said, "I wish it were lonely"--Which the trees looked upon from every side,And that was his. He waved good-bye to hideA sigh that he converted to a laugh.He seemed to hang rather than stand there, halfGhost-like, half like a beggar's rag, clean wrungAnd useless on the brier where it has hungLong years a-washing by sun and wind and rain. But why I call back man and house againIs that now on a beech-tree's tip I seeAs then I saw--I at the gate, and heIn the house darkness,--a magpie veering about,A magpie like a weathercock in doubt.
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