EDWARD THOMAS’S THE NEW HOUSE

Now first, as I shut the door,

I was alone

I n the new house; and the wind

Began to moan

Old at once was the house,

And I was old;

My ears were teased with the dread

Of what was foretold,

Nights of storm, days of mist, without end;

Sad days when the sun

Shone in vain: old grief’s and grief’s

Not yet begun.

All was foretold me; naught

Could I fore see;

But I learned how the wind would sound

After these things should be