The Old House

Poem By Amy Levy

In through the porch and up the silent stair;
Little is changed, I know so well the ways;--
Here, the dead came to meet me; it was there
The dream was dreamed in unforgotten days.

But who is this that hurries on before,
A flitting shade the brooding shades among?--
She turned,--I saw her face,--O God, it wore
The face I used to wear when I was young!

I thought my spirit and my heart were tamed
To deadness; dead the pangs that agonise.
The old grief springs to choke me,--I am shamed
Before that little ghost with eager eyes.

O turn away, let her not see, not know!
How should she bear it, how should understand?
O hasten down the stairway, haste and go,
And leave her dreaming in the silent land.

Comments about The Old House

To me it read as if a women walk back into her childhood home, life and that she might of been abused at one time. I am wondering how deep Amy Levy went into herself or maybe it was a friend, surely the pain clearly showed in the poem! I Love it


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Other poems of LEVY

A Cross-Road Epitaph

"Am Kreuzweg wird begraben
Wer selber brachte sich um."

Borderland

Am I waking, am I sleeping?
As the first faint dawn comes creeping
Thro' the pane, I am aware
Of an unseen presence hovering,

A Prayer

Since that I may not have
Love on this side the grave,
Let me imagine Love.
Since not mine is the bliss

In A Minor Key

(AN ECHO FROM A LARGER LYRE.)


That was love that I had before

A March Day In London

The east wind blows in the street to-day;
The sky is blue, yet the town looks grey.
'Tis the wind of ice, the wind of fire,
Of cold despair and of hot desire,

Epitaph. (On A Commonplace Person Who Died In Bed)

THIS is the end of him, here he lies:
The dust in his throat, the worm in his eyes,
The mould in his mouth, the turf on his breast;
This is the end of him, this is best.