 | Songs and ballads |  |
73
MORTALITY.
The house is old, the house is cold,
And on the roof is snow;
And in and out and round about
The bitter night-winds blow:
The bitter night-winds howl and blow—
And darkness thickens deep,—
And oh, the minutes creep as slow
As though they were asleep!
And on the roof is snow;
And in and out and round about
The bitter night-winds blow:
The bitter night-winds howl and blow—
And darkness thickens deep,—
And oh, the minutes creep as slow
As though they were asleep!
It used to be all light and song,
And mirth and spirits gay—
The day could never prove too long;
The night seemed like the day!
The night seemed bright and light as day
Ere yet that house was old;
Ere yet its aged roof was gray,
Its inner chambers cold:—
And mirth and spirits gay—
The day could never prove too long;
The night seemed like the day!
The night seemed bright and light as day
Ere yet that house was old;
Ere yet its aged roof was gray,
Its inner chambers cold:—
Old visions haunt the creaking floors—
Old sorrows sit and wail;—
While still the night-winds out of doors
Like burly bailiffs rail!
Old visions haunt the floor above:
The walls with wrinkles frown;
And people say, who pass that way,
'T were well the house were down.
Old sorrows sit and wail;—
While still the night-winds out of doors
Like burly bailiffs rail!
Old visions haunt the floor above:
The walls with wrinkles frown;
And people say, who pass that way,
'T were well the house were down.
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