Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DESOLATE HOUSE, by ANNETTE ELISABETH VON DROSTE-HULSHOFF First Line: Deep in a dell a woodsman's house Last Line: And echoes of the dead man's flute. Alternate Author Name(s): Droste-hulshoff, Annette Von Subject(s): Houses, Deserted | ||||||||
DEEP in a dell a woodsman's house Has sunk in wild dilapidation; There buried under vines and boughs I often sit in contemplation. So dense the tangle that the day Through heavy lashes can but glimmer; The rocky cleft is rendered dimmer By overshadowing tree-trunks gray. Within that dell I love to hear The flies with their tumultuous humming, And solitary beetles near Amid the bushes softly drumming. And when the trickling cliffs of slate The color from the sunset borrow, Methinks an eye all red with sorrow Looks down on me disconsolate. The arbor peak with jagged edge Wears many a vine-shoot long and meagre And from the moss beneath the hedge Creep forth carnations, nowise eager. There from the moist cliff overhead The muddy drippings oft bedew them, Then creep in lazy streamlets through them To sink within a fennel-bed. Along the roof o'ergrown with moss Has many a tuft of thatch projected, A spider-web is built across The window-jamb, else unprotected; The wing of a gleaming dragon-fly Hangs in it like some petal tender, The body armed in golden splendor Lies headless on the sill near-by. A butterfly sometimes may chance In heedless play to flutter hither And stop in momentary trance Where the narcissus blossoms wither; A dove that through the grove has flown Above this dell no more will utter Her coo, one can but hear her flutter And see her shadow on the stone. And in the fireplace where the snow Each winter down the chimney dashes A mass of bell-capped toad-stools grow On viscid heaps of moldering ashes. High on a peg above the rest A hank of rope-yarn limply dangles Like rotted hair, and in the tangles The swallow built her last year's nest. An old dog-collar set with bells Swings from a hook by clasp and tether, With rude embroidery that spells "Diana" worked upon the leather. A flute too, when the woodsman died, The men who dug his grave forgot here; The dog, his only friend, they shot here And laid her by her master's side. But while I sit in reverie, A field-mouse near me shrilly crying, The squirrel barking from his tree, And from the marsh the frogs replying Then eerie shudders o'er me shoot, As if I caught from out the dingle Diana's bells once more a-jingle And echoes of the dead man's flute. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEYOND THE HUNTING WOODS by DONALD JUSTICE RUINS UNDER THE STARS by GALWAY KINNELL ABANDONED FARMHOUSE by TED KOOSER NORTH OF ALLIANCE by TED KOOSER BLUE SUNDAY by KENNETH REXROTH THE MIRROR IN THE WOODS by KENNETH REXROTH THE DESERTED HOUSE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE THE DESERTED HOUSE by ALFRED TENNYSON ON THE TOWER by ANNETTE ELISABETH VON DROSTE-HULSHOFF PENTECOST by ANNETTE ELISABETH VON DROSTE-HULSHOFF THE BOY ON THE MOOR by ANNETTE ELISABETH VON DROSTE-HULSHOFF |
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