My sorrow that I am not by the little dun By the lake of the starlings at Rosses under the hill, And the larks there, singing over the fields of dew; Or evening there and the sedges still. For plain I see now the length of the yellow sand, And Lissadell far off and its leafy ways, And the holy mountain whose mighty heart Gathers into it all the coloured days. My sorrow that I am not by the little dun By the lake of the starlings at evening when all is still, And still in whispering sedges the herons stand. 'Tis there I would nestle at rest till the quivering moon Uprose in the golden quiet over the hill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN JANUARY by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE IRISH SPINNING-WHEEL by ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES by FRANCIS BRET HARTE MODERN LOVE: 43 by GEORGE MEREDITH THE LAKE (VERSION 2) by EDGAR ALLAN POE UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 5. THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MEROPE; A TRAGEDY by MATTHEW ARNOLD |