Poem by Robert Southey

Porlock

Porlock! thy verdant vale so fair to sight,
Thy lofty hills which fern and furze imbrown,
The waters that roll musically down
Thy woody glens, the traveller with delight
Recalls to memory, and the channel grey
Circling its surges in thy level bay.
Porlock! I shall forget thee not,
Here by the unwelcome summer rain confined;
But often shall hereafter call to mind
How here, a patient prisoner, 'twas my lot
To wear the lonely, lingering close of day,
Making my sonnet by the alehouse fire,
Whilst Idleness and Solitude inspire
Dull rhymes to pass the duller hours away. 

1. For the Cenotaph at Ermenonville
2. St. Bartholomew’s Day
3. King Henry the Fifth and the Hermit of Dreux
4. For a Monument in the New Forest
5. St. Michael’s Chair

Print

1621 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version