The curfew tolls the knell of parting day The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea The plowman home plods his weary way Leaving the world and darkness to me Now fades the glimmering landscape All the air a solemn stillness holds Save where the beatle wheels his droning flight And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds
He clasps the crag with crooked hands Close to the sun in lonely lands He watches from his mountain walls Ringed with the azure world he stands
Many a gem of purest ray serene Dark unfathomed caves of ocean bare Many a flower is born to blush unseen And waste it's sweetness on the desert air Soaring where the ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Wandering near the secret bower Molests the ancient solitary reign
The boast of song the push of power The beauty all that wealth ever gave Awaits alike the endless hour Paths of glory lead but to the grave Yet even bones from insult to protect A frail memorial still sitting high Uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked Implores the passing tribute of a sighTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
