As 'mid these moldering walls I pensive stray, With moss and ivy rudely overgrown, I love to watch the last pale glimpse of day, And hear the rising winds of evening moan. How loud the gust comes sweeping o'er the vale! Now faintly murmurs midst those distant trees; The owl begins her melancholy wail, Filling with shrieks the pauses of the breeze. Fancy, thy wildest dreams engage my mind -- I gaze on forms which not to earth belong; I see them riding on the passing wind, And hear their sadly-sweet, expressive song. Wrapped in the dear though visionary sound, In spells of rapture all my soul is bound! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE YARN OF THE 'NANCY BELL' by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT GETTYSBURG [JULY 1-3, 1863] by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER by JONATHAN SWIFT PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 22. AL-BASIT by EDWIN ARNOLD WAR NOTES: 3. TWO PARADES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON CINQUAIN: WIND by KENNETH CHING THE BOROUGH: LETTER 11. INNS by GEORGE CRABBE |