Walter de la Mare

The Old House

A very, very old house I know—

And ever so many people go,

Past the small lodge, forlorn and still,

Under the heavy branches, till

Comes the blank wall, and there's the door.

Go in they do; come out no more.

No voice says aught; no spark of light

Across that threshold cheers the sight;

Only the evening star on high

Less lonely makes a lonely sky,

As, one by one, the people go

Into that very old house I know.