The Boy from his bedroom-window
Look'd over the little town,
And away to the bleak black upland
Under a clouded moon.
The moon came forth from her cavern,
He saw the sudden gleam
Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland;
Or perhaps the whole was a dream.
For I never could find that water
In all my walks and rides:
Far-off, in the Land of Memory,
That midnight pool abides.
Many fine things had I glimpse of,
And said, 'I shall.find them one day.'
Whether within or without me
They were, I cannot say.
- William Allingham
(19 March 1824 – 18 November 1889)
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
The Boy from his bedroom-window
Look'd over the little town,
And away to the bleak black upland
Under a clouded moon.
The moon came forth from her cavern,
He saw the sudden gleam
Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland;
Or perhaps the whole was a dream.
For I never could find that water
In all my walks and rides:
Far-off, in the Land of Memory,
That midnight pool abides.
Many fine things had I glimpse of,
And said, 'I shall.find them one day.'
Whether within or without me
They were, I cannot say.
- William Allingham
(19 March 1824 – 18 November 1889)
Irish poet
