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Poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson


The House on the Hill


They are all gone away,
The House is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.

Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill:
They are all gone away.

Nor is there one to-day
To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.

Why is it then we stray
Around the sunken sill?
They are all gone away,

And our poor fancy-play
For them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.

There is ruin and decay
In the House on the Hill:
They are all gone away,
There is nothing more to say. 



Edwin Arlington Robinson


Edwin Arlington Robinson's other poems:
  1. Neighbors
  2. Two Men
  3. The Dead Village
  4. Momus
  5. Cliff Klingenhagen


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