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THE HOUSE IN THE HEATH, by                    
First Line: Beneath yon fir trees in the west
Last Line: The christ is born this even?
Alternate Author Name(s): Droste-hulshoff, Annette Von


BENEATH yon fir trees in the west,
The sunset round it glowing,
A cottage lies like bird on nest,
With thatch roof hardly showing.

And there across the window-sill
Leans out a white-starred heifer;
She snorts and stamps, then breathes her fill
Of evening's balmy zephyr.

Near-by reposes, hedged with thorn,
A garden neatly tended;
The sunflower looks about with scorn;
The bell-flower's head is bended.

And in the garden kneels a child,
She weeds or merely dallies,
A lily plucks with gesture mild
And wanders down the alleys.

A shepherd group in distance dim
Lie stretched upon the heather,
And with a simple evening hymn
Wake the still breeze together.

And from the roomy threshing hall
The hammer strokes ring cheery,
The plane gives forth a crunching drawl,
The rasping saw sounds weary.

The evening star now greets the scene
And smoothly soars above it,
And o'er the cottage stands serene;
He seems in truth to love it.

A vision with such beauty crowned,
Had pious monks observed it,
They straight upon a golden ground
Had painted and preserved it.

The carpenter, the herdsmen there
A pious choral sounding;
The maiden with the lily fair,
And peace the whole surrounding;

The wondrous star that beams on all
From out the fields of heaven—
May it not be that in the stall
The Christ is born this even?





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