FLOODED are the brakes and dell With thy phantom light, And my soul receives the spell Of thy mystic might. To the meadow dost thou send Something of thy grace, Like the kind eye of a friend, Beaming on my face. Echoes of departed times Vibrate in mine ear, Joyous, sad, like spirit-chimes, As I wander here. Flow, flow on, thou little brook; Ever onward go! Trusted heart, and tender look, Left me even so. Richer treasure earth has none Than I once possess'd -- Ah, so rich, that when 'twas gone, Worthless was the rest. Little brook! adown the vale, Rush, and take my song; Give it passion, give it wail, As thou leap'st along. Sound it in the winter night, When thy streams are full; Murmur it when skies are bright, Mirror'd in the pool. Happiest he of all created, Who the world can shun, Not in hate, and yet unhated; Sharing thought with none, Save one faithful friend; revealing, To his kindly ear, Thoughts like these, which, o'er me stealing, Make the night so drear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOROUGH: LETTER 22. POOR OF THE BOROUGH. PETER GRIMES by GEORGE CRABBE CHANGED by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW BEAUTY MAKES US HAPPY by PHILIP AYRES TO A HAPPY WARRIOR by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT AFTER OPERATION by JULIET BRANHAM REVERY by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |