Under the Pyrenees, Where the warm sea-wind drifts thro' tamarisk boughs, There is a lonely house upon a hill-top That I shall never forget or see again. I shall not see that garden, filled with roses, On the high sun-burnt plateau, girdled round With that low parapet, on the lonely hill-top, By sunlight, or by moonlight, ever again. In that lost garden stands a little chapel, And the strange ship wherein we made our voyage, Our little mortal ship of thoughts and visions, Hangs there, in chains, before the twilit altar. The doors are locked. The lamp is quenched for ever; Though, at one corner of the house, Our Lady Looks out, across the valley, to the sea. And, on the landward side, across a valley Purple as grapes in autumn, the dark mountains, With peaks like broken swords, and splintered helmets, Remembering Roland's death, are listening still. Look down, look down, upon the sunlit valley, Over the low white parapet of that garden; And you shall see the long white road go winding Through the Basque vineyards. . . . But you shall not see One face, nor shall you hear one voice that whispered Love, as it died. . . . Only one wooden Image Knows where she knelt, among the lonely mountains At Roncesvalles, in one last prayer for me. . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY POEMS: 3 by GEORGE BARKER HABEAS CORPUS by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON THE LAND O' THE LEAL by CAROLINA OLIPHANT NAIRNE BEN JONSON ENTERTAINS A MAN FROM STRATFORD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON HALSTED STREET CAR by CARL SANDBURG INVITATION TO A PAINTER: 1 by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM LYNCHED by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. |