THIS conduit stream that's tangled here and there With rusted iron and shards of earthenware, And tawny-stained with ruin trolls across The tiny village battered into dross -- This muddy water chuckling in its run Takes wefts of colour from the April sun, And paints for fancy's eye a glassy burn Ribanded through a brake of Kentish fern, From some top spring beside a park's gray pale, Guarding a shepherded and steepled dale, Wherefrom the blue deep-coppiced uplands hear The dim cool noise of waters at a weir. And much too clear you bring it back to me, You dreary brook deformed with cruelty, Here where I halt to catch the day's best mood, On my way up to Sanctuary Wood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REVELATION by ROBERT PENN WARREN THE PROCLAMATION by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE SUPPLIANTS: THE WORLD'S HARMONIOUS PLAN by AESCHYLUS MARECHAL NIEL by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE BLUEBELLS OF NEW ENGLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |