James Stephens

(9 February 1882 - 26 December 1950 / Dublin)

Behind the Hill


Behind the hill I met a man in green
Who asked me if my mother had gone out?
I said she had. He asked me had I seen
His castle where the people sing and shout
From dawn to dark, and told me that he had
A crock of gold inside a hollow tree,
And I could have it.—I wanted money bad
To buy a sword with, and I thought that he
Would keep his solemn word; so, off we went.
He said he had a pound hid in the crock,
And owned the castle too, and paid no rent
To any one, and that you had to knock
Five hundred times. I asked, 'Who reckoned up?'
And he said, 'You insulting little pup!'

Submitted: Thursday, May 10, 2012

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Behind the Hill by James Stephens )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Flowes Do Eventually Wilt, Hazel Durham
  2. No se amor, Sergio Jaime
  3. Haiku: Colored Perceptions, Brian Johnston
  4. Poppy and Moppy, Brian P FitzGerald
  5. 'Nightmare of 'Annabel Lee', Shania K. Younce
  6. I heard him, Nassy Fesharaki
  7. WAIL ON, WOLE, Onwuasoanya FCC Jones
  8. Allegory 1, Tori Bachue
  9. An Interesting Breed They Are, Monk E. Biz
  10. Revolution Brings Salvation, Ruma Chaudhuri

Poem of the Day

poet Edmund Spenser

Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,
My love like the spectator ydly sits
Beholding me that all the pageants play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]