 | Orellana and Other Poems |  |
226
TENANTLESS.
A level waste, where sheep are starving drear,And lapwings breed, and sapless windle-straws,
Weakly submissive to the gusty flaws,
For ever round the waste forlornly veer,—
In midst whereof, most desolate, appear
Four grey walls round an empty house: you pause
As you pass by, and ask what fool he was
That built, and brought his household darlings, here?
No pathway through the waste leads to the door
That fronts the snow-cold hills; the lake between,
When, as to-day, a north wind's blowing keen,
Sends to the very doorstep, cold and hoar,
Patches of flying foam:—a dreary scene!
Thank heaven! to be lived in by child no more!
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