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The poem
The House with Nobody in it by Joyce Kilmer
Whenever
I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles
broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I
always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house
with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there
are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and
sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were,
I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or
two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen
panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a
scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines
should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people
living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and
spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to
be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give
it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window
and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its
block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be
sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has
never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and
his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up
his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that
ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and
looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and
the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a
house with a broken heart. |