The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
(The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Prof UnderCover evitable,
Tue 8 Jul 2008, 15:55,
archived)
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
(And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Prof UnderCover evitable,
Tue 8 Jul 2008, 15:59,
archived)
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
(The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Prof UnderCover evitable,
Tue 8 Jul 2008, 16:02,
archived)
someone stop methis poem has 32 stanzas...
( Prof UnderCover evitable,
Tue 8 Jul 2008, 16:05,
archived)
.......No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
The end
(Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
The end
boff FL OZ,
Tue 8 Jul 2008, 16:09,
archived)