Yellow Nineties 2.0 The Yellow Book: An Illustrated Quarterly, Volume 7 October 1895 <editor>Lorraine Janzen Kooistra</editor> </titleStmt> <editionStmt> <p> <date>2020</date> </p> </editionStmt> <publicationStmt> <idno>YBV7_6po</idno> <publisher>Yellow Nineties 2.0</publisher> <pubPlace>Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities</pubPlace> <address> <addrLine>English Department</addrLine> <addrLine>350 Victoria Street,</addrLine> <addrLine>Toronto ON,</addrLine> <addrLine>M5B 2K3</addrLine> <addrLine>Canada</addrLine> </address> <availability> <p>Usable according to the Creative Commons License <ref target="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/">Attribution Non-commercial Share-alike</ref>.</p> </availability> </publicationStmt> <sourceDesc> <biblStruct> <monogr> <editor> <persName>Henry Harland</persName> </editor> <author>Rosamund Marriott Watson</author> <title>The House Desolate John Lane London Copeland & Day Boston October 1895 Marriott Watson, Rosamund. "The House Desolate." The Yellow Book, vol. 7, October 1895, pp. 23-24. Yellow Book Digital Edition, edited by Dennis Denisoff and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2020. https://1890s.ca/YBV7_marriottwatson_house/

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 1895 English English literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals Great Britain -- Periodicals Poetry Periodical Periodical Possible Types (singular): "Periodical" (texts/most stuff), "Interactive Resource" (current writing, biographies, not old reviews), "Still Image" (images, visual art), "Physical Object" (posters, prospecti) Book History Literature Possible Disciplines (multiple): "Book History (include for all periodical items)," "Literature," "Art History (use for art, also use for reviews)," "History (don't use in a general sense)," "Theatre Studies," "Musicology," "Philosophy," "Anthropology," "Science"
The House Desolate By Rosamund Marriott Watson So still the old house lies, so dull, so grey, The dews of dawn forget to hallow it ; Here come no sweet birds singing, night or day, From these bare eaves no building swallows flit. Sunk in dim dreams it lies as in a swoon— Dreams of a distant city hid from sight, The enchanted city of the sun and moon, The golden market of the world's delight. Pale as the dead are they that dwell herein, Worn with vain strife and wrung with vain regret ; Theirs but to watch the world go by to win That glimmering goal their hearts remember yet. They lean among the lilacs by the door, To watch the winding road with wistful eyes, The long, white, dusty way that nevermore Shall bear them hope or wonder or surprise. Sometimes 24 The House Desolate Sometimes they call, but answer comes there none ; Sometimes they beckon—none will turn aside. The long procession glitters in the sun ; With echoing tramp the motley pilgrims ride. Some in the twilight chambers, wide and low, Around a cold hearth gather, murmuring Vague, half-remembered tales of long ago, Songs, half forgot, of Travel and the Spring. Wan faces peer from the uncurtained pane, Across the weedy garden, fain to see, The wayfarers that pass in sun or rain, The blue, far-shining stream that threads the lea.

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Here falls no word from any passer-by, None lifts the latch of this forgotten gate ; Only faint winds about the lintel sigh " Your house is left unto you desolate."