Of pearls that lie encircling the green throat
Of one of Mona’s lesser southern hills ;
Between them runs a thread of gorse and ling
Which riot in this neighbourhood remote,
Crowning the hedges, embow’ring the rills ;
Fuchsia its crimson bounty here doth fling,
Vibrant with bees, melodious with their note ;
Geraniums with scarlet decked the sills.
There was a time when children here did sing
With carefree rapture in the fragrant hay,
And dove-grey smoke rose to a summer sky,
Now hearths are cold and homes in ruins lie.
Those happy children now are far away.