"Under the mountain..."

Under the mountain, as when first I knew Its low dark roof, and chimney creeper-twined, The red house stands; and yet my footsteps find Vague in the walks, waste balm and fever few. But they are gone: no soft-eyed sisters trip Across the porch or lintels; where, behind, The mother sat,--sat knitting with pursed lip. The house stands vacant in its green recess, Absent of beauty as a broken heart; The wild rain enters, and the sunset wind Sighs in the chambers of their loveliness, Or shakes the pane; and in the silent noons, The glass falls from the window, part by part, And ringeth faintly in the grassy stones.