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A vanished house that for an hour I knew

By some forgotten chance when I was young

Had once a glimmering window overhung

With honeysuckle wet with evening dew.

Along the path tall dusky dahlias grew,

And shadowy hydrangeas reached and swung

Ferociously; and over me, among

The moths and mysteries, a blurred bat flew.


Somewhere within there were dim presences

Of days that hovered and of years gone by.

I waited, and between their silences

There was an evanescent faded noise;

And though a child, I knew it was the voice

Of one whose occupation was to die.


E.A. Robinson


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