Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 65

Call me no more, O gentle stream,

To wander through thy sunny dream,

No more to lean at twilight cool

Above thy weir and glimmering pool.

Surely I know thy hoary dawns,

The silver crisp on all thy lawns,

The softly swirling undersong

That rocks thy reeds the winter long.

Surely I know the joys that ring

Through the green deeps of leafy spring;

I know the elfin cups and domes

That are their small and secret homes.

Yet is the light for ever lost

That daily once thy meadows crossed,

The voice no more by thee is heard

That matched the song of stream and bird.

Call me no more!—thy waters roll

Here, in the world that is my soul,

And here, though Earth be drowned in night,

Old love shall dwell with old delight.

Henry Newbolt

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