Verse > Anthologies > Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. > Poems of Places > Ireland
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed.  Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Ireland: Vol. V.  1876–79.
John Reade (1837–1919)
KILLYNOOGAN,—hallowed name,—
Though thou ’rt little known to fame,
My heart’s homage thou dost claim.
Though to stranger ears thou be
But a word of mystery,        5
Meaning deep thou hast for me.
All thy quaint old masonry
Now before my eyes I see,
As of old it used to be.
Ah! too well I can recall        10
Every stone in every wall,—
In my heart I count them all.
And the lawn before the door,
I can see it as of yore,
Bright with daisies spangled o’er.
*        *        *        *        *
And the garden full of flowers,
Where I ’ve past romantic hours,
Dreaming of fair ladies’ bowers.
In the orchard, stretched at ease
On the grass, I hear the breeze        20
Piping ’mong the apple-trees.
While from many a leafy nook,
Grave as parson at his book,
Rook replieth unto rook.
I can hear the river’s flow        25
As it murmurs, soft and low,
Bringing news from Pettigo.
I can watch it to the mill,
Where the never-tiring wheel
Dances round and drinks its fill.        30
Past the ever-bubbling “spa,”
Past the castle of Magra,
Razed by Cromwell’s cruel law,
On it goes with many a turn,
Playing with its fringe of fern,        35
Till it touches broad Lough Erne.
*        *        *        *        *

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