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Tuesday, June 19, 2012

The Little Dell by William Allingham

Doleful was the land, 
Dull on, every side, 
Neither soft n'or grand, 
Barren, bleak, and wide; 
Nothing look'd with love; 
All was dingy brown; 
The very skies above 
Seem'd to sulk and frown.

Plodding sick and sad, 
Weary day on day; 
Searching, never glad, 
Many a miry way; 
Poor existence lagg'd 
In this barren place; 
While the seasons dragg'd 
Slowly o'er its face. 

Spring, to sky and ground, 
Came before I guess'd; 
Then one day I found 
A valley, like a nest! 
Guarded with a spell 
Sure it must have been, 
This little fairy dell 
Which I had never seen. 

Open to the blue, 
Green banks hemm'd it round 
A rillet wander'd through 
With a tinkling sound; 
Briars among the rocks 
Tangled arbours made; 
Primroses in flocks 
Grew beneath their shade. 

Merry birds a few, 
Creatures wildly tame, 
Perch'd and sung and flew; 
Timid field-mice came; 
Beetles in the moss 
Journey'd here and there; 
Butterflies across 
Danced through sunlit air. 

There I often read, 
Sung alone, or dream'd; 
Blossoms overhead, 
Where the west wind stream'd; 
Small horizon-line, 
Smoothly lifted up, 
Held this world of mine 
In a grassy cup. 

The barren land to-day 
Hears my last adieu: 
Not an hour I stay; 
Earth is wide and new. 
Yet, farewell, farewell! 
May the sun and show'rs 
Bless that Little Dell 
Of safe and tranquil hours!

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