By lost Clonard the river meads still hold Forgotten dreams, white memories pure as dew, Of fragrant days when scholars wandered through The marshy grass, and hearts had not grown old; Beneath her purple hills a saint once told A starry tale, a story strange and new Brought from the dawn-lands -- and all Eire drew Around his moat to hear the words of gold. There stands no cross, or tower, or ancient wall Mellow with simple peace men used to know, And from the fields no courtly town has sprung: Only along green banks the blackbirds call, Just as they did a thousand years ago In morning meadows when the world was young. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MYSTERY OF PAIN by EMILY DICKINSON TO THE REPUBLIC by JAMES GALVIN ON HEARING A LITTLE MUSIC-BOX by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT GOD'S WORLD by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE PASSOVER IN THE HOLY FAMILY (FOR A DRAWING) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE LAST INVOCATION by WALT WHITMAN |