Thou brooklet, all unknown to song, Hid in the covert of the wood! Ah, yes, like thee I fear the throng, Like thee I love the solitude. O brooklet, let my sorrows past Lie all forgotten in their graves, Till in my thoughts remain at last Only thy peace, thy flowers, thy waves. The lily by thy margin waits;-- The nightingale, the marguerite; In shadow here he meditates His nest, his love, his music sweet. Near thee the self-collected soul Knows naught of error or of crime; Thy waters, murmuring as they roll, Transform his musings into rhyme. Ah, when, on bright autumnal eves, Pursuing still thy course, shall I Lisp the soft shudder of the leaves, And hear the lapwing's plaintive cry? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COTTON CLUB by CLARENCE MAJOR THE HEART'S RETURN by EDWIN MARKHAM FROM THE SHORE by CARL SANDBURG WHAT AILS THIS HEART O'MINE? by SUSANNA BLAMIRE LINES ON EXODUS 3:14 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE RUNAWAY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ALL WHITE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT DEDICATIONS AND INSCRIPTIONS: 8. BEAM-VERSES AT WELL KNOWE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |