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Mary Elizabeth Coleridge - The Deserted House
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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
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