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Charles Graham Halpine (Чарльз Грэхем Халпин) The Hill of Killenarden THOUGH time effaces memory, And griefs the bosom harden, I ’ll ne’er forget, where’er I be, That day at Killenarden; For there, while fancy revelled wide, The summer’s day flew o’er me; The friends I loved were at my side, And Irish fields before me. The road was steep; the pelting showers Had cooled the sod beneath us; And there were lots of mountain flowers, A garland to enwreathe us. Far, far below the landscape shone With wheat and new-mown meadows, And as o’erhead the clouds flew on, Beneath swept on their shadows. O friends, beyond the Atlantic’s foam There may be nobler mountains, And in our new far Western home Green fields and brighter fountains; But as for me, let time destroy All dreams, but this one pardon, And barren memory long enjoy That day on Killenarden. Charles Graham Halpine's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1210 |
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