FAR up at Glorian the wind is sighing, And, as the light grows less, Across the downland sounds the plovers' crying, The voice of loneliness. Thither, from this sad waste of waters streaming, All the unending night, My heart returns, to see by Kennet gleaming One cottage window-light. Yet for your sake it is that I must roam now, Dear lands, dear lads I know; I love you so, I could not stay at home now, Nor pay the debt I owe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A STRIP OF BLUE by LUCY LARCOM THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA by HERMAN MELVILLE STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER OUT A-NUTTEN by WILLIAM BARNES LEISTON ABBEY by BERNARD BARTON THE THEME AND THE PUPPET by LETA GRACE BORLAND TO MR. RENTON, BERWICK by ROBERT BURNS BALLAD TO THE TUNE - 'THAT WE MAY ROW WITH MY P. OVER YE FERRY' by PATRICK CAREY |