A Very, Very Old House I Know- And Ever So Many People Go, Past The Small Lodge, Forlorn And Still, Under The Heavy Branches, Till Comes The Blank Wall, And There'S The Door. Go In They Do; Come Out No More. No Voice Says Aught; No Spark Of Light Across That Threshold Cheers The Sight; Only The Evening Star On High Less Lonely Makes A Lonely Sky, As, One By One, The People Go Into That Very Old House I Know.