When all is quiet where there has been laughter,
And the last voice has faded down the lane,
The house is rich from cornerstone to rafter
With pervasive glory tinged with pain.
The walls and ceilings echo still, though faintly,
With singing that has gone into the night;
The emptiness is thronged with choirs saintly
Slow dwindling down the corridors of light.
And as the embers of the hearth go out forever,
And the last wisps of smoke melt to the sky,
I wonder if the fruits of all endeavour
Are doomed, like earth’s frail pageantry, to die !
Mona’s Herald 8.10.63