The Ruined Chapel
By the shore, a plot of ground Clips a ruined chapel round, Buttressed with a grassy mound; Where Day and Night and Day go by And bring no touch of human sound. Washing of the lonely seas, Shaking of the guardian trees, Piping of the salted breeze; Day and Night and Day go by To the endless tune of these. Or when, as winds and waters keep A hush more dead than any sleep, Still morns to stiller evenings creep, And Day and Night and Day go by; Here the silence is most deep. The empty ruins, lapsed again Into Nature's wide domain, Sow themselves with seed and grain As Day and Night and Day go by; And hoard June's sun and April's rain. Here fresh funeral tears were shed; Now the graves are also dead; And suckers from the ash-tree spread, While Day and Night and Day go by; And stars move calmly overhead.
William Allingham
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