Lizette Woodworth Reese

(January 9, 1856 – December 17, 1935 / Waverly)

Writ In A Book Of Welsh Verse - Poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese

This is the house where I was bred:
The wind blows through it without stint,
The wind bitten by the roadside mint;
Here brake I loaf, here climbed to bed.

The fuchsia on the window sill;
Even the candlesticks a-row,
Wrought by grave men so long ago —
I loved them once, I love them still.

Southward and westward a great sky! —
The throb of sea within mine ear —
Then something different, more near,
As though a wistful foot went by.

Ghost of a ghost down all the years! —
In low-roofed room, at turn of stair,
At table-setting, and at prayer,
Old wars, old hungers, and old tears!


Comments about Writ In A Book Of Welsh Verse by Lizette Woodworth Reese

  • (5/19/2014 11:00:00 AM)


    How complacent and comfortable we become in the home we've spent a lifetime in. Memories galore! (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, December 17, 2011

Poem Edited: Saturday, December 17, 2011


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