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The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth

With Sixteen Illustrations. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton

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56

On a turret of the keep,
On the castled isle,
Where the poet lies asleep,
Circled by the waters deep,
Happy planets smile.
Yes, he sleeps there all alone
In a little cell,
Vaulted with an arch of stone,
In a turret ivy-grown,
Where an owl doth dwell.
Yet he only sleeps by fits,
For loudly snores the owl—
“Alone, and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the” ivy sits:
He is a noisy fowl!