IN a little house keep I pictures suspended, it is not a fix'd house,
It is round, it is only a few inches from one side to the other;
Yet behold, it has room for all the shows of the world, all memories?
Here the tableaus of life, and here the groupings of death;
Here, do you know this? this is cicerone himself,
With finger rais'd he points to the prodigal pictures.
The round house that holds pictures of memories and scenes could only be his head.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
House holds the memories in his thoughts.