The Deserted House
M
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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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
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
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