THE
CRIMSON HOUSE
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LOVE
built a crimson house,
I know it well,
That he might have a home
Wherein to dwell.
Poor Love that roved so far
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5 |
And
fared so ill,
Between the morning star
And the Hollow Hill,
Before he found the vale
Where he could bide,
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10 |
With
memory and oblivion
Side by side.
He took the silver dew
And the dun red clay,
And behold when he was through
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| How
fair were they!
The braces of the sky
Were in its girth,
That it should feel no jar
Of the swinging earth;
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That sun and wind might bleach
But not destroy
The house that he had builded
For this joy.
“Here will I stay,” he said,
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“And
roam no more,
And dust when I am dead
Shall keep the door.”
There trooping dreams by night
Go by, go by.
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The
walls are rosy white
In the sun’s eye.
The windows are more clear
Than sky or sea;
He made them after God’s
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| Transparency.
It is a dearer place
Than kirk or inn;
Such joy on joy as there
Has never been.
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40 |
There may my longed-for rest
And welcome be,
When Love himself unbars
The door for me!
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