CHILLY the eve, and the silent mist Veils the moon in a mystic haze, The cattle go down by the waterways, And the skyline glimmers like amethyst. A silhouette on the lonely dune The traveller shows twixt earth and sky, And fretfully cawing the rooks go by, Shrinking in fright from the leprous moon. The witch sits down, a ghoul at her throat, And over the tarn the goblins call, The spider has spun its web on the wall, And waits for its prey and wearies not. @3This of old was thy song, Ivon — The song is living, the singer gone@1. Apart the storm-chased luggers fly, The straining mainmast is stripped and bare, And the billows sing to the whirling air A dirge for a failing dynasty. The coach goes rumbling along the road, The road that leads to the wide world's end, Carrying, mother or wife or friend — Pity the ones who to-night are abroad. On the hillside lone the graveyard is, A cross, a flower, a written stone, The worm that crawls on the skeleton, And the mouldering lips that we loved to kiss. The fire is bright on the cottage hearth, The kettle sings in an undertone A song of joy that is all its own, And children are full of idle mirth. @3This of old was thy song, Ivon — Where is the wayward singer gone?@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SELLING HER ENGAGEMENT RING by KAREN SWENSON RELIGION AND DOCTRINE by JOHN MILTON HAY JOY OF THE MORNING by EDWIN MARKHAM WHEN I PERUSE THE CONQUER'D FAME by WALT WHITMAN LINES FROM A PLUTOCRATIC POETASTER TO A DITCH-DIGGER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |