THE unforgotten voices call at twilight, In the grey dawning, in the quiet night hours; Voices of mountains and of waters falling, Voices of wood-doves in the tender valleys, Voices of flowery meadows, golden cornfields: Yea, all the lonely bog-lands have their voices. Voices of church-bells over the green country, Memories of home, of youth. O unforgotten! When all the world's asleep the voices call me, @3Come home, acushla, home! Why did you leave us?@1 The little voices hurt my heart to weeping, There are small fingers plucking at my heart-strings. Let me alone, be still, I will not hear you. Why would I come to find the old places lonely? They are all gone, the loving, the true-hearted; Beautiful country of the dead, I come not: How would I meet the cold eyes of the stranger? All the nests of my heart are cold and empty. I will not come for all your soft compelling, Little fingers plucking me by the heart-strings, In the grey dawning, in the quiet nighthours, Because the dead, the darling dead, return not And all the nests of my heart are cold and lonely. @3They will not give me peace at dawn and twilight.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO A LITTLE BOY by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM ON A JUNIPER-TREE, CUT DOWN TO MAKE BUSKS by APHRA BEHN THE SIGHING TIME by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN LIFE AND LOVE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING CENTENNIAL HYMN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |