| |
| THE STRONG sob of the chafing stream | |
| That seaward fights its way | |
| Down crags of glitter, dells of gleam, | |
| Is in the hills to-day. | |
| |
| But far and faint, a grey-winged form | 5 |
| Hangs where the wild lights wane— | |
| The phantom of a bygone storm, | |
| A ghost of wind and rain. | |
| |
| The soft white feet of afternoon | |
| Are on the shining meads, | 10 |
| The breeze is as a pleasant tune | |
| Amongst the happy reeds. | |
| |
| The fierce, disastrous, flying fire, | |
| That made the great caves ring, | |
| And scarred the slope, and broke the spire, | 15 |
| Is a forgotten thing. | |
| |
| The air is full of mellow sounds, | |
| The wet hill-heads are bright, | |
| And down the fall of fragrant grounds | |
| The deep ways flame with light. | 20 |
| |
| A rose-red space of stream I see, | |
| Past banks of tender fern; | |
| A radiant brook, unknown to me | |
| Beyond its upper turn: | |
| |
| The singing silver life I hear, | 25 |
| Whose home is in the green, | |
| Far-folded woods of fountains clear, | |
| Where I have never been. | |
| |
| Ah, brook above the upper bend, | |
| I often long to stand | 30 |
| Where you in soft, cool shades descend | |
| From the untrodden land! | |
| |
| Ah, folded woods, that hide the grace | |
| Of moss and torrents strong, | |
| I often wish to know the face | 35 |
| Of that which sings your song! | |
| |
| But I may linger, long, and look | |
| Till night is over all: | |
| My eyes will never see the brook, | |
| Or sweet, strange waterfall. | 40 |
| |
| The world is round me with its heat, | |
| And toil, and cares that tire; | |
| I cannot with my feeble feet | |
| Climb after my desire. | |
| |
| But, on the lap of lands unseen, | 45 |
| Within a secret zone, | |
| There shine diviner gold and green | |
| Than man has ever known. | |
| |
| And where the silver waters sing | |
| Down hushed and holy dells, | 50 |
| The flower of a celestial Spring, | |
| A tenfold splendour, dwells. | |
| |
| Yea, in my dream of fall and brook | |
| By far sweet forests furled, | |
| I see that light for which I look | 55 |
| In vain through all the world— | |
| |
| The glory of a larger sky | |
| On slopes of hills sublime, | |
| That speak with God and morning, high | |
| Above the ways of Time! | 60 |
| |
| Ah! haply, in this sphere of change | |
| Where shadows spoil the beam, | |
| It would not do to climb that range | |
| And test my radiant Dream. | |
| |
| The slightest glimpse of yonder place, | 65 |
| Untrodden and alone, | |
| Might wholly kill that nameless grace | |
| The charm of the unknown. | |
| |
| And therefore, though I look and long, | |
| Perhaps the lot is bright | 70 |
| Which keeps the river of the song | |
| A beauty out of sight. | |
| |
