When the last colours of the day
Have from their burning ebbed away,
About that ruin, cold and lone,
The cricket shrills from stone to stone;
And scattering o'er its darkened green,
Bands of fairies may be seen,
Clattering like grasshoppers, their feet
Dancing a thistledown dance round it:
While the great gold of the mild moon
Tinges their tiny acorn shoon.
The Ruin
Walter De La Mare
(1)
Poem topics: away, dance, green, moon, great, cold, gold, Valentine's Day, stone, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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