TO A REMEMBERED STREAM, AND A NEVER FORGOTTEN FRIEND.
Sweet stream, the haunt of solitary hern
And shy king-fisher, far from busy town
Or even populous hamlet, winding down
Through banks thick fringed with underwood and fern
And hazel thickets, where the ripe nuts turn
Unmarked and slow to Autumn's ruddy brown;
Where gems thy single rock its feathery crown
(For nought of thine looks ever sad or stern!)
With berried scarlet of the mountain-ash;—
I never hear 'mid waking dreams thy dash
Above the pebbles, but I think on One
Whose course of days hath by thy waters run,
A course like thine of calm and quietness,
Nor ever raised a voice except to bless.
And shy king-fisher, far from busy town
Or even populous hamlet, winding down
Through banks thick fringed with underwood and fern
And hazel thickets, where the ripe nuts turn
Unmarked and slow to Autumn's ruddy brown;
Where gems thy single rock its feathery crown
(For nought of thine looks ever sad or stern!)
With berried scarlet of the mountain-ash;—
I never hear 'mid waking dreams thy dash
Above the pebbles, but I think on One
Whose course of days hath by thy waters run,
A course like thine of calm and quietness,
Nor ever raised a voice except to bless.
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