Gray, gray is Abbey Assaroe, by Belashanny town, It has neither door nor window, the walls are broken down; The carven-stones lie scatter'd in briar and nettle-bed!...
Chequer'd with woven shadows as I lay Among the grass, blinking the watery gleam, I saw an Echo-Spirit in his bay Most idly floating in the noontide beam. Slow heaved his filmy skiff, and fell, with sway...
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was bred and born; Go where I may, I'll think of you, as sure as night and morn. The kindly spot, the friendly town, where every one is known,...
O pale green sea, With long, pale, purple clouds above What lies in me like weight of love ? What dies in me With utter grief, because there comes no sign...
The vast and solemn company of clouds Around the Sun's death, lit, incarnadined, Cool into ashy wan; as Night enshrouds The level pasture, creeping up behind...
Far from the churchyard dig his grave, On some green mound beside the wave; To westward, sea and sky alone, And sunsets. Put a mossy stone, With mortal name and date, a harp...
Four ducks on a pond, A grass-bank beyond, A blue sky of spring, White clouds on the wing; What a little thing To remember for years To remember with tears!
Amy Margaret's five years old, Amy Margaret's hair is gold, Dearer twenty-thousand-fold Than gold, is Amy Margaret. "Amy" is friend, is "Margaret" The pearl for crown or carkanet?...
See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down, And through the Winter neglected lay, Uncoils two little green leaves and two brown, With tiny root taking hold on the clay As, lifting and strengthening day by day,...
That which he did not feel, he would not sing; What most he felt, religion it was to hide In a dumb darkling grotto, where the spring Of tremulous tears, arising unespied,...
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods, And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt, And night by night the monitory blast Wails in the key-hold, telling how it pass'd...
Four ducks on a pond, A grass-bank beyond, A blue sky of spring, White clouds on the wing; What a little thing To remember for years To remember with tears!
Here the white-ray'd anemone is born, Wood-sorrel, and the varnish'd buttercup; And primrose in its purfled green swathed up, Pallid and sweet round every budding thorn,...
October - and the skies are cool and gray O'er stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf, Bare meadow, and the slowly falling leaf. The dignity of woods in rich decay Accords full well with this majestic grief...
I'm glad I am alive, to see and feel The full deliciousness of this bright day, That's like a heart with nothing to conceal; The young leaves scarcely trembling; the blue-grey...
The Abbot of Innisfallen awoke ere dawn of day; Under the dewy green leaves went he forth to pray. The lake around his island lay smooth and dark and deep, And wrapt in a misty stillness...
Within a budding grove, In April's ear sang every bird his best, But not a song to pleasure my unrest, Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love; Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest....