Grey walls, broad fields, fresh voices, rippling weir, I know you well: ten faces, for each face That passes smiling, haunt this hallowed place, And nothing not thrice noted greets me here. Soft watery winds, wide twilight skies and clear, Refresh my spirit at its founts of grace, And a strange sorrow masters me, to pace These willowed paths, in this autumnal year. Soon, lovely England, soon thy secular dreams, Thy lisping comrades, shall be thine no more. A world's loosed troubles flood thy gated streams And drown, methinks, thy towers; and the tears start As if an iron hand had clutched my heart, And knowledge is a pang, like love of yore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LIGHTS OF NEW YORK by SARA TEASDALE THE JOYS OF THE ROAD by BLISS CARMAN SCHOOLBOYS IN WINTER by JOHN CLARE IN HOSPITAL: 2. WAITING by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE SERGEANT'S WEDDIN' by RUDYARD KIPLING AULD ROBIN GRAY by ANNE LINDSAY FIRST FIG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY A SONNET WRITTEN BY A NYMPH IN HER OWN BLOOD by CLAUDIO ACHILLINI |