A traveler came from Achill And brought me pictures three; One was the isle of Achill Surrounded by the sea. I gazed deep in the picture, I saw the sad, gray skies; I felt the wild wind blowing, The Irish wind, that cries. The little, white-washed houses Hug hollows in the hills; Their walls are weather-beaten By rain and wind that chills. Their thatch is warm and heavy And weighted down with stones; The little low white houses Beside a sea that moans. I dream myself on Achill, The isle I've never seen; Its black and purple landscape, Its sea of gray and green. A traveler came from Ireland And brought me pictures three; My sad heart cries for Achill, @3And Achill cries for me!@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |