Classic Poem

No door has my house,
No house has my door;
And in and out ever
I carry my store.

No grate has my kitchen,
No kitchen my grate;
Yet roasts it and boils it
Both early and late.

My bed has no trestles,
My trestles no bed;
Yet merrier moments
No mortal e'er led.

My cellar is lofty,
My barn is full deep,
From top to the bottom, —
There lie I and sleep.

And soon as I waken,
All moves on its race;
My place has no fixture,
My fixture no place.