IN A STRANGE HOUSE
Reading edition
THE memory of time is here imprisoned In these walls, not fluent time that moves Upon the flood, but time already reasoned And undone of its quick eyes and loves. We who are strangers in this finished house Have slept with noiseless shadows, and we lie Astonished in our chambers lest we rouse The sleeping moments with an awful cry. The dead would murder action. Oh I know Their subtle ways. They separate with fear The fiery lips of thought. And I shall go By silent lanes and leave you timeless here.