FAR up at Glorian the wind is sighing, And, as the light grows less, Across the downland sounds the plovers' crying, The voice of loneliness. Thither, from this sad waste of waters streaming, All the unending night, My heart returns, to see by Kennet gleaming One cottage window-light. Yet for your sake it is that I must roam now, Dear lands, dear lads I know; I love you so, I could not stay at home now, Nor pay the debt I owe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOHN WILKES BOOTH AT THE FARM (JANUARY 12, 1848) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 12 by EZRA POUND THE GAME OF CHESS by EZRA POUND SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 38 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ALL THAT'S PAST by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE ERL-KING by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE |