@3THE painted Briton built his mound, And left his celts and clay, On yon fair slipe of sunlit ground That fronts your garden gay; The Roman came, he bore the sway, He bullied, bought, and sold, Your fountain sweeps his works away Beside your manor old! But still his crumbling urns are found Within the window-bay, Where once he listened to the sound That lulls you day by day;— The sound of summer winds at play, The noise of waters cold To Yarty wandering on their way, Beside your manor old! The Roman fell: his firm-set bound Became the Saxon's stay; The bells made music all around For monks in cloisters grey, Till fled the monks in disarray From their warm chantry's fold, Old Abbots slumber as they may, Beside your manor old! ENVOY. Creeds, empires, peoples, all decay, Down into darkness, rolled; May life that's fleet be sweet, I pray, Beside your manor old.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HEGIRA by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON GOOD-BYE DOROTHY GAYLE: ST. CLOUD, MINNESOTA by KAREN SWENSON CHILD AND MOTHER by EUGENE FIELD EASTER WINGS by GEORGE HERBERT THE PILLAR OF FAME by ROBERT HERRICK THE SEA by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER |