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 sigh