Thomas Hardy — A house with a History

There is a house in a city street        &nbsp Some past ones made their own; Its floors were criss-crossed by their feet,        &nbsp       &nbsp And their babblings beat        &nbsp From ceiling to white hearth-stone. And who are peopling its parlours now?        &nbsp Who talk across its floor? Mere freshlings are they, blank of brow,        &nbsp       &nbsp Who read not how        &nbsp Its prime had passed before Their raw equipments, scenes, and says        &nbsp Afflicted its memoried face, That had seen every larger phase        &nbsp       &nbsp Of human ways        &nbsp Before these filled the place. To them that house’s tale is theirs,        &nbspNo former voices call Aloud therein. Its aspect bears        &nbsp       &nbsp Their joys and cares        &nbsp Alone, from wall to wall.