Gone, gone again, br May, June, July, br And August gone, br Again gone by, br br Not memorable br Save that I saw them go, br As past the empty quays br The rivers flow. br br And now again, br In the harvest rain, br The Blenheim oranges br Fall grubby from the trees br br As when I was young br And when the lost one was here br And when the war began br To turn young men to dung. br br Look at the old house, br Outmoded, dignified, br Dark and untenanted, br With grass growing instead br br Of the footsteps of life, br The friendliness, the strife; br In its beds have lain br Youth. love, age, and pain: br br I am something like that; br Only I am not dead, br Still breathing and interested br In the house that is not dark:- br br I am something like that: br Not one pane to reflect the sun, br For the schoolboys to throw at - br They have broken every one.