The nettle chokes the beaten earth, The ivy-tree the stone-- The living dead must mind The walls that were their own. The living dead must surely mind The constant stream that spills Into a granite pool Between the folding hills. It twists about, it trickles thro' And with a hollow sound, It spills into the pool, And gurgles underground. Last night, last night, as I came by The ruins grey and bare, I heard a human voice Make music on the air For tho' the nettle chokes the earth, The ivy-tree the stone, The living dead must mind The walls that were their own. I looked, and lo, the driven moon Hid in a bank of cloud; And when it shone I saw A woman in her shroud She sang, and washed a wooden churn All in the water white: Her hair was in the stream, Her shroud was spun of light. She washed, and coloured bubbles foamed, About her fallen hair; And human laughter rang Into the icy air. It seemed the pool was white with feet, The darkness bright with eyes, The ruins warm with song, With laughter and with sighs. For though the nettle chokes the earth, The ivy-tree the stone, The living dead must mind The walls that were their own. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND by HENRY FIELDING AT FREDERICKSBURG [DECEMBER 13, 1862] by JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY COMEDY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO HASEKAWA by WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG THE DIVINITY by MATTHEW ARNOLD |