Four ducks on a pond, A grass-bank beyond,
The Boy from his bedroom-window Look'd over the little town,
Pluck not the wayside flower, It is the traveller's dower;
In early morning twilight, raw and chill, Damp vapours brooding on the barren hill,
O pale green sea, With long, pale, purple clouds above -
A man who keeps a diary, pays Due toll to many tedious days;
Chequer'd with woven shadows as I lay Among the grass, blinking the watery gleam,
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night; I went to the window to see the sight;
Far from the churchyard dig his grave, On some green mound beside the wave;
That which he did not feel, he would not sing; What most he felt, religion it was to hide
Doleful was the land, Dull on, every side,
Gray, gray is Abbey Assaroe, by Belashanny town, It has neither door nor window, the walls are broken down;
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was bred and born; Go where I may, I'll think of you, as sure as night and morn.
See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down, And through the Winter neglected lay,
The vast and solemn company of clouds Around the Sun's death, lit, incarnadined,
I'm glad I am alive, to see and feel The full deliciousness of this bright day,
Little Cowboy, what have you heard, Up on the lonely rath's green mound?
Amy Margaret's five years old, Amy Margaret's hair is gold,
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen,
Down on the shore, on the sunny shore! Where the salt smell cheers the land;
Four ducks on a pond, A grass-bank beyond,
The Boy from his bedroom-window Look'd over the little town,
Pluck not the wayside flower, It is the traveller's dower;
In early morning twilight, raw and chill, Damp vapours brooding on the barren hill,
O pale green sea, With long, pale, purple clouds above -
A man who keeps a diary, pays Due toll to many tedious days;
Chequer'd with woven shadows as I lay Among the grass, blinking the watery gleam,
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night; I went to the window to see the sight;
Far from the churchyard dig his grave, On some green mound beside the wave;
That which he did not feel, he would not sing; What most he felt, religion it was to hide
Doleful was the land, Dull on, every side,
Gray, gray is Abbey Assaroe, by Belashanny town, It has neither door nor window, the walls are broken down;
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was bred and born; Go where I may, I'll think of you, as sure as night and morn.
See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down, And through the Winter neglected lay,
The vast and solemn company of clouds Around the Sun's death, lit, incarnadined,
I'm glad I am alive, to see and feel The full deliciousness of this bright day,
Little Cowboy, what have you heard, Up on the lonely rath's green mound?
Amy Margaret's five years old, Amy Margaret's hair is gold,
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen,
Down on the shore, on the sunny shore! Where the salt smell cheers the land;