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The New House

 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 yest begun.
All was foretold me; naught Could I foresee; But I learnt how the wind would sound After these things should be

by Edward Thomas
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