The New House by Edward Thomas — Read

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.