Explore "Abbey Asaroe" by William Allingham on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Gray, gray is Abbey Asaroe, / by Belashanny town, / It has neither door nor window, / the walls are broken down; / The carven-stones lie scatter'd / in briar and nettle-bed; / The only feet are those that come / at burial of the dead. / A little rocky rivulet / runs murmuring to the tide, / Singing a song of ancient days, / in sorrow, not in pride; / The boortree and the lightsome ash / across the portal grow, / And heaven itself is now the roof / of Abbey Asaroe.
It looks beyond the harbour-stream / to Gulban mountain blue; / It hears the voice of Erna's fall, -- / Atlantic breakers too; / High ships go sailing past it; / the sturdy clank of oars / Brings in the salmon-boat to haul / a net upon the shores; / And this way to his home-creek, / when the summer day is done, / Slow sculls the weary fisherman / across the setting sun; / While green with corn is Sheegus Hill, / his cottage white below; / But gray at every season / is Abbey Asaroe.