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Elena Fearn

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The Moon and the House

The valley's other side, the small strange house
Is constant landmark there. Clear its square roof
To all accustomed view and unremarked
In the evening shines with late rain.
A dull and moonless night obliterates it,
Until clearly again a morning sight
Shows it a habitation of all seasons.

In all its years and theirs here no one knew
Of its many rooms, windows, passages,
And whitewashed cupboards and deal chairs ;
Or what beds large and small with honeycomb
White quilts and high white pillows ;
Of a shuffling man, a midnight key, and bones
Under the scullery flags ; what coughs, whistles,
And hard groanings of a felled tree,
Or how the green wood spat at night in the grate
With winter fever ;
And what interlocutory voices high and fading
Of the sons and daughters coming :—and suddenly
In darkening of evening wind, a child's tears,
A child's consternation. And all the same :
The same fire, tables, chairs, the same used stair.

And this its strange hour :
Under a round moon, tender as unsmiling,
The habitation of all seasons fades
And is magic only. The heart spoke for it,
And eyes saw too clear its famous sleep
And day of faces—
While clearer in this light astonishing
With laughter unbegun and no sudden tears
Are the bare floor and wall.

 

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