The house of frameless rooms is long,
Empty at its center am I;
Footsteps fall at evensong;
The wind is up, nightbirds whoop and cry.

When will the ancient house fall down
And I be on my way?
Cross ghosts, crashing, creeping sounds,
But for light of day.

Its cross I have to bear
Until I'm spilt on air;
The ancient house is falling down,
Its colors I shall wear.

For all that's said and done by saints,
The dead are but the dead;
The ancient house is ruled by hants,
Filling us with fear and dread.