Classic Poem

The stones of time's old house with pelting storms,
That on it long have beat from day to day,
Are loose; the door is gone, and smoke deforms
The boards within and walls of plastered clay;
Long have his children strove to keep it whole;
By many a wile he's taught them to make good,
The waste that creeping years have from it stole,
And long its walls the ruin have withstood;
But now within and out the storms assail.
Its beams rock to and fro with every gust;
And fears o'er cherished hopes at last prevail,
Nor longer to its threatening roof they'll trust;
But cease to patch each rent with jealous care,
And learn at last to live beneath the open air.