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