MOOR of my name, where the road leads high, Thro' heather and bracken, gorse and grass, Up to the crown of the western sky, A questing traveller, slow, I pass. Silent and lonely the darkening moor, The beasts are bedded, the birds are gone, Never a farm, nor a cottage door, And I on the road alone -- alone; And the south-west wind is beginning to croon, And a listening lonely pine-tree sways; And behind it is hanging a golden moon For a resting sign at the cornerways. A thousand years since the stranger came, And homed him here, and gave me name. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BITTERNESS by VICTORIA MARY SACKVILLE-WEST REALISM by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE STORY OF FIORDISPINA, FR. ORLANDO FURIOSO by LUDOVICO (LODOVICO) ARIOSTO WITHER AWAY by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY VILLAGE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SELLING A COW IN VERMONT by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY APRIL, OR THE NEW HAT by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY SONG: ON HEARING A SONG IN PRAISE OF A LADY'S BEAUTY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |