THE HOUSE
O the House in the Square! dear House in the Square!
With the little grass-plots, and the mouldy green tubs
Where the hoops fell away from the pale-flowering shrubs;
But the widow was kind, and her daughters were fair,
And all the day long there was sunshine there,
In the House in the Square.
A poor scholar's widow who still had her share
Of life's vexing troubles, how kindly she took
To our thoughtful life busy with lecture and book!
And with motherly heart she would sweeten our care
O'er the mild cup of tea, and the homely fare
Of the House in the Square.
To her all the way of our life we laid bare
Its hopes and its fears, and she made them her own,
And soothed us, or cheered us, as one who had known
The outlets that open in depths of despair;
And we all came away with a light-somer air
From the House in the Square.
The widow was kind; but her daughters were rare,
Bright girls—our Muriel, Myra, and Loo:
Nimble their fingers, their wits nimble too,
And like sunbeams and singing of birds, unaware
Of the brightness they brought, they would trip up the stair
Of the House in the Square.
Never maidens more frank, never maidens more fair,
Never maidens were simpler or truer than they;
They could think as we thought, yet their hearts were as gay
As the feather-head fribbles that simper and stare,
When you speak as we spoke all the long evenings there
At the House in the Square.
There our Logic we aired, splitting many a hair;
And the quick-witted girls, skilled in mellow-toned Greek,
Reading just what we read, of their Plato would speak,
Or they sang an old song, or they played a blithe air,
When discussion grew hot about any affair
In the House in the Square.
Their father, a scholar, would have them beware
How they squandered their lives on the shallow and sweet;
They should know what men knew, to be helps to them meet;
And the learning he loved he was eager to share
With the daughters he loved, until death found him there
At the House in the Square.
We were all of us poor; but we did not much care,
For we sought the best riches of wisdom and truth
With the courage of faith, and the ardour of youth;
And with Homer and Shakespeare for friends, we could bear
The dust of the carriage that passed with a stare
At the House in the Square.
How it haunts me, that home with its scholarly air!
Those brave, gentle souls 'mid the city's turmoil,
All so earnest in thought, and so patient in toil,
And so true to the right, and so patient to bear!
Ah! would I were now as I wont to be there
At the House in the Square!
