Skip to content
1869–1935

The House on the Hill

Edwin Arlington Robinson

They are all gone away, The House is shut and still, There is nothing more to say. Through broken walls and gray

The winds blow bleak and shrill: They are all gone away. Nor is there one to-day To speak them good or ill:

There is nothing more to say. Why is it then we stray Around that sunken sill? They are all gone away,

And our poor fancy-play For them is wasted skill: There is nothing more to say. There is ruin and decay

In the House on the Hill: They are all gone away, There is nothing more to say.

Cookies on Poetry Cove

We use cookies to remember your language preference and — only with your consent — to learn how Poetry Cove is used. You can change your mind any time.
The House on the Hill · Edwin Arlington Robinson · Poetry Cove