Classic Poem

I WAS leaving the House behind,
And it said, as I crossed the sill:
“Because he is gone from me,
Forever and ever gone,
You too must be forth and away!
You cannot bear me, you cry—
The listening—the silence—the void!
But how shall I bear myself,
Who cannot arise and go,
And be free of the silence that asks,
That listens, and asks again—
And be free of the void that aches?

“How shall I bear myself?
As full of sweet memories, I,
As of honey the autumn hive—
But the sweet of my honey stings!
Where now are his hat and his coat
That hung in the hall by the door,
And the good cane leaned beside,
That was used to the feel of his hand,
That was warm with the clasp of his hand?
They are taken and hidden away;
But the place where they were still asks:
‘Why must I lose what was mine?’
“And the pen that none other might touch,
And the letter half written, and left;
And the book at the head of the bed,
Where the late lamp loved to shine
(The book that was old and good),
With the leaves that he slowly turned,
With the leaves that he loved the best;
And the reading-glass slipped between!
They are all put by, put by;
But I know, though they hide, where they are—
I am full of keen memories, I,
As of arrows the saint in the shrine!

“How shall I bear myself?”
Said the House that was left behind.
“How shall I bear myself?”
Said the haunting Voice of the House,
As over the sill I passed.
And the Voice was the silence that asks,
That listens, and asks again;
And the Eyes were the windows that gazed,
That gazed at me long and hard,
And wondered that I went forth.
“Nevertheless, O House,
I must leave you—must go,” I said.