Weird Tales/Volume 30/Issue 6/The Old House on the Hill
TheOld House on the Hill
From the wide valley, I looked up and saw
The house upon the hill, that I had seen
So many times before. By every law
It should have seemed, just what it long had been,
An old house that someone, with loving care,
Had painted white; at doors and windows hung
Green-painted shutters. But it had an air
Of difference, today. The wind had flung,
Or some hand closed, the shutters on the doors,
French-doors, with windows over them; the trim
Between shone white, through pines and sycamores,
To form two crosses, and my eyes grew dim.
I thought, "There is no home without its cross
Hidden about it somewhere; pain—or loss."