Itchin, when I behold thy banks again, Thy crumbling margin, and thy silver breast, On which the self-same tints still seem to rest, Why feels my heart the shiv'ring sense of pain? Is it, that many a summer's day has past Since, in life's morn, I carol'd on thy side? Is it, that oft, since then, my heart has sigh'd, As Youth, and Hope's delusive gleams, flew fast? Is it that those, who circled on thy shore, Companions of my youth, now meet now more? Whate'er the cause, upon thy banks I bend Sorrowing, yet feel such solace at my heart, As at the meeting of some long-lost friend, From whom, in happier hours, we wept to part. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME by GEORGE GORDON BYRON BIRD AND BROOK by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES A FIT OF RHYME AGAINST RHYME [OR, RIME] by BEN JONSON UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES, BY MISS JEMINA INGOLDSBY, AGED 15 by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 14 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT EPITAPH ON A MOCK MARQUIS by ROBERT BURNS |