Another prospect pleased the builder's eye, 
And Fashion tenanted (where Fashion wanes) 
Here in the sorrowful suburban lanes 
When first these gables rose against the sky. 
Relic of a romantic taste gone by, 
This stately monument alone remains, 
Vacant, with lichened walls and window-panes 
Blank as the windows of a skull. But I, 
On evenings when autumnal winds have stirred 
In the porch-vines, to this gray oracle 
Have laid a wondering ear and oft-times heard, 
As from the hollow of a stranded shell, 
Old voices echoing (or my fancy erred) 
Things indistinct, but not insensible.