The New House by Edward Thomas

Now first, as I shut the door,

I was alone

In the new house ; and the wind

Began to moan.

Old at once was the house,

And I was old ;

My ears were teased with the dread

Of what was foretold,

Nights of storm, days of mist, without end ;

Sad days when the sun

Shone in vain : old griefs and griefs

Not yet begun.

All was foretold me ; naught

Could I foresee ;

But I learned how the wind would sound

After these things should be.