The far house shines so clear, it seems to come
Towards me across the green estranging land.
The chimneys clustering watch; a tiny hum
Fills the closed rooms; the mute walls listening stand.

When as a child I walked upon the earth,
In burning inquisition, half afraid,
Too empty seemed the wide horizon's girth,
But there were nooks with magic thick inlaid.

But most where in a house in one green place
Doors opened wide to low voice of a stream,
Where through still-standing days I seemed to pace,
As if the years were tarrying in a dream.

There was a line around on every side,
And all within spoke to me and was home
Beyond, the empty fields spread waste and wide,
To the dark sea where ships cut white the foam.

How long, how long I pored on stone and tree,
In happy inward dream day after day!
Slow lifting up my heavy head to see
Tall men walk on the white roads far away,

And houses standing still in sun and rain,
With dreamt-of rustlings filled from roof to floor,—
Then I would watch for hours to see again
The folk go out and in about the door.

Now I can see once more, once more can feel
That human magic on the stony earth.
See, through their struggling web of stone and steel,
Those distant houses shine with grief and mirth!
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