The House Of Change

Was it last Autumn only, when I stood At the field's edge, and watched the red glow creep Among the leaves, and saw the swift flame sweep From spruce to hemlock, till the living wood Became a devastated solitude? For now, behold, old seeds, long years asleep, Wake; and a legion of young birches leap To life, and tell the ashes life is good. O Love of long ago, when this mad fire Is over, and the ruins of my soul With the Spring wind the old quest would resume,-- When age knocks at the inn of youth's desire, Shall the new growth, now worthier of the goal, Find still untenanted the chosen room?