Abandoned, by Madison Cawein

  The hornets build in plaster-dropping rooms,
  And on its mossy porch the lizard lies;
  Around its chimneys slow the swallow flies,
  And on its roof the locusts snow their blooms.
  Like some sad thought that broods here, old perfumes
  Haunt its dim stairs; the cautious zephyr tries
  Each gusty door, like some dead hand, then sighs
  With ghostly lips among the attic glooms.
  And now a heron, now a kingfisher,
  Flits in the willows where the riffle seems
  At each faint fall to hesitate to leap,
  Fluttering the silence with a little stir.
  Here Summer seems a placid face asleep,
  And the near world a figment of her dreams.