In Merioneth, over the sad moor Drives the rain, the cold wind blows: Past the ruinous church door, The poor procession without music goes. Lonely she wandered out her hour, and died. Now the mournful curlew cries Over her, laid down beside Death's lonely people: lightly down she lies. In Merioneth, the winds lives and wails, On from hill to lonely hill: Down the loud, triumphant gales, A spirit cries Be strong! and cries Be still! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE IN THE HOLY NATIVITY [OF OUR LORD GOD]; AS SUNG BY SHEPHERDS by RICHARD CRASHAW THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 15 by OMAR KHAYYAM POLITICAL GREATNESS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE ORGANIST by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE COY, SELECTION by WILLIAM BROOME SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 23 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |