The poem
I to a crumpled cabin came upon a hillside high, And with me was a withered dame As weariful as I. "It used to be our home," she said; "How well I remember well! Oh that our happy hearth should be Today an empty shell!"
The door was flailing in the storm That deafed us with its din; The roof that kept us once so warm Now let the snow-drift in. The floor sagged to the sod below, The walls caved crazily; We only heard the wind of woe Where once was glow and glee.
So there we stood disconsolate Beneath the Midnight Dome, And ancient miner and his mate, Before our wedded home, Where we had know such love and cheer . . . I sighed, then soft she said: "Do not regret - remember, dear, We, too, are dead."
This poem, compact for RWS, conjures up the desolation of the ruined dwelling in a wild landscape now growing over the dereliction of an industry as long dead as the "Ghosts" who are there to picture it for you. Could be coal, ironstone, lead, even gold? Many ironstone and lead relics on the moors near me. I hope RWS doesn't mind that I sing it, and so bring it and hopefully his enormous wealth of poetry to others. As a song I call it "Remember Dear" so I don't give away the punch line!