‘…No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, choaked with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o’ertops the mouldering wall…’
Lines from Oliver Goldsmith’s ‘The Deserted Village’ and photographs of an abandoned village on Achill Island, County Mayo.
A col time of year to be there
Sent from my iPad
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