William Allingham
The Boy from his bedroom-window
Look'd over the little town,
And away to the bleak black upland
Under a clouded moon.
The moon came forth from her cavern,
He saw the sudden gleam
Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland;
Or perhaps the whole was a dream.
Four ducks on a pond,
A grass-bank beyond,
A blue sky of spring,
White clouds on the wing;
What a little thing
To remember for years—
To remember with tears!
