New songs of innocence :: :: University of Virginia Library

This morning, Willie, as we look
From our accustomed window-nook,
Where are the hills and where the glen
That daily welcome us again?
This old grey castle where we dwell
Is surely compassed with a spell,
Wrapt in a cloud, and wildly whirled
About the confines of the world!

No castle this! it is a boat
Loosed from its moorings, and afloat,
Adrift upon a sea of mist:
The winds may bear it where they list.
From this our window-seat we see
No kindly green of grass or tree,
But tossing vapours weirdly white,
Shot through by neither day nor night.

Our cabin here—that was a room—
Is filling fast with filtered gloom,
And clammy fingers, clinging cold,
Our bodies and our spirits hold.

And nearer draws a sound of wail,
And wandering voices faintly hail
Our wandering bark, to set them free
From horrors of that misty sea.

But we will gather round the fire,
Hand linked in hand, a cheerful choir,
And sing of wholesome summer days
On wooded banks and grassy braes.
Thus on our memories will we live
Till sleep a change of prospect give,
And morning find us moored again
Beneath the hills, above the glen!