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428 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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THOMAS CAULFIELD IRWIN (1823-1892)
A WINDOW SONG
W
ITHIN the window of this white, Low, ivy-roofed, retired abode, We look through sunset's sinking light Along the lone and dusty road That leads unto the river's bridge,
Where stand two sycamores broad and green, Whence from their rising grassy ridge
The low rays lengthen shade and sheen. The village panes reflect the glow', And all about the scene is still, Save, by the foamy dam below,
The drumming wheel of the whitewashed mill:
A radiant quiet fills the air,
And gleam the dews along the turf:
While the great wheel, bound
On its drowsy round, Goes snoring through the gusts of surf.
A-south, beyond the hamlet, lie
The low, blue hills in mingling mist,
With furl of cloud along the sky, And ravines rich as amethyst, |
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