HOUSED.

My house within the casting of the Ouse,
Whose two banks seem to offer every proof,
That youths pain same as the tide is hard to move;
A fact the river never cares to yield,
Though every wave frustrates before my keel.

We wish too much for time to show its nature,
Greater than the contents of its mortar;
Water courses freely through the venture,
And moving pictures make our bodies shed too soon,
Forever young to own much of the time to come.

In covered dug out holes we reassess the news,
Few know of much but always have a point of view,
Do I confess to knowing any more than you?
As fresh baked individuals collect ashore
Perhaps the covenant was always mine not yours.