Вильям Аллингам (William Allingham)

Wayconnell Tower

THE TANGLING wealth by June amassed
  Left rock and ruin vaguely seen;
Thick ivy-cables held them fast,
  Light boughs descended, floating green.

Slow turned the stair, a breathless height,
  And, far above, it set me free,
When all the golden fan of light
  Was closing down into the sea.

A window half-way up the wall
  It led to; and so high was that,
The tallest trees were not so tall
  That they could reach to where I sat.

Aloft within the mouldered tower,
  Dark ivy fringed its round of sky,
Where slowly, in the deepening hour,
  The first few stars unveiled on high.

The rustling of the foliage dim,
  The murmur of the cool gray tide,
With tears that trembled on the brim,
  An echo sad to these I sighed.

O Sea, thy ripple’s mournful tune!—
  The cloud along the sunset sleeps;
The phantom of the golden moon
  Is kindled in thy quivering deeps,

O, mournfully!—and I to fill,
  Fixed in a ruin-window strange,
Some countless period, watching still
  A moon, a sea, that never change!

The guided orb is mounting slow;
  The duteous wave is ebbing fast;
And now, as from the niche I go,
  A shadow joins the shadowy past.

Farewell, dim ruins, tower and life;
  Sadly enrich the distant view!
And welcome, scenes of toil and strife;	
  To-morrow’s sun arises new.

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