| I DWELL in a lonely house I know | |
| That vanished many a summer ago, | |
| And left no trace but the cellar walls, | |
| And a cellar in which the daylight falls, | |
| And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow. | 5 |
|
O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield | |
| The woods come back to the mowing field; | |
| The orchard tree has grown one copse | |
| Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops; | |
| The footpath down to the well is healed. | 10 |
|
I dwell with a strangely aching heart | |
| In that vanished abode there far apart | |
| On that disused and forgotten road | |
| That has no dust-bath now for the toad. | |
| Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart; | 15 |
|
The whippoorwill is coming to shout | |
| And hush and cluck and flutter about: | |
| I hear him begin far enough away | |
| Full many a time to say his say | |
| Before he arrives to say it out. | 20 |
|
It is under the small, dim, summer star. | |
| I know not who these mute folk are | |
| Who share the unlit place with me— | |
| Those stones out under the low-limbed tree | |
| Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar. | 25 |
|
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad, | |
| Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,— | |
| With none among them that ever sings, | |
| And yet, in view of how many things, | |
| As sweet companions as might be had. | 30 |
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