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