Old houses, abandoned, forgotten,
Grown weird with the spell of old fears;
Old rafters, now heavy with secrets
Of sorrows and hopes, or of tears:
These weave a mystic attraction,
The wrecks of dead lives and spent years.
Old paths with their moss-covered flag-stone,
Old cities of peoples unknown;
Strange relics, queer pictures, odd writings
Of civilizations outgrown—
Whose heart thrills not at things ancient
Of times far removed from our own?