10 MAY 1963, Page 23

A Changing of Houses

On the dark porches that are sweetly strange, We stand a little while and try to see Into the yard we shall be calling home. But it is night; the edges of the trees Are all we see, and a few scattered stars. We go inside and close the heavy door Against the rain. Here in this sovereign plate We plan to build new lives like the fresh fires We lay in every bare and dreamless chamber. We who were brave, we who have left behind All that we did not care for any more— We feel the freedom, ardent, in our spines; We feel our old, our ravelled hopes revive— While outside in the rain, through the strange gardens,. Memory hunts us, pacing, like the wind.

MARY OI.IVFR