The Deserted House

There’s no smoke in the chimney, And the rain beats on the floor; There’s no glass in the window, There’s no wood in the door; The heather grows behind the house, And the sand lies before. No hand hath trained the ivy, The walls are grey and bare; The boats upon the sea sail by, Nor ever tarry there. No beast of the field comes nigh, Nor any bird of the air.

Mary Coleridge

Available in your local book shop, or buy online at: