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