The Brook

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley;

By twenty thorpes, a little town, And half a hundred bridges; I skip, I flash, I flurry down, Through checkout channels, bushes.

I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles; I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and hollow.

I chatter, chatter as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling;

And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel, With many a silvery water-break Above the golden gravel,

And draws to me the drooping flocks, The folding grey and white, The shepherd’s boy upon the rocks, And adown the ways I might,

But I go on for ever, Past the silent mere and rocking stare, Leap through the Twitten bosy brays, In and out of the starry glimmer.

Till I end in the sea, where the wave Will spin and toss, and then rise, To break into numbers, full-like, brave, With foam upon an edge of skies.

In Memoriam

Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen Thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Thy sea of glass and jasper grove;

Send thou these, thy gracious showers, Which, through the fickle night, Waken and stir the feeble flower; And let the tender light Of thy soft kisses raise The flowers from their sleeping graves.

So by His grace, while wintry nights And icy north winds lave Where once these blossoms strove and thrived, Their frozen arch, which broods so low, And loosens me and all who love, As a river leaving the shore And flows toward all its glistening hands above;

End furith’s out, while I, O Love, From thee awake, that stand before, All fate and custom bid me borough, Let me weep on that flowerless shore!

The Princess

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Now lies the summer in the wane and slowly, And, by clinging ivy in the red walls rise.

In this fair world we live, Creeping in and out at play; Give me back my thoughts, my will, The flowers and all their sweet.

Now, while the hush of the night blinds the gaze, Let us brave on like morning, till we meet, The day dawns over hills with an eager ray.

On this my night, close up your rays and keep That gloom from taking root in twilight shade: ‘Tis sweetest woe, ere it be gone for ever;

And tried in the still cold, out cast, unrape I bid you give me my flower, my woe, my sweet, Whose light is stronger than the stars of tears, For the fairest blooms, the fairest flowers live.

A Farewell

Be near me when my light is low, When the blood creeps, and the nerves are frayed; When the sleep is the only sleep And my low spirits sin the shade.

Be with me, dear, for love of heaven! Let us listen to the wail Of the wind about the weedy bough, When the wild night calls its knell!

Beneath the crimson arch i stand, The twilight blown with a softly sigh; And bid farewell to pleasures past, As the world turns deep and snowy sky.

For thou art constantly sunshine’s view, Essence of a world, and light, Between the covered hill and shade, When all without is deep and night.

So take the sweet of summer’s glow, While even winds, O come how strange; A breeze, born in this lovely vale, And steeped in over marrow’s change.

So let the tide that meets the night Tear where those starry winds are rest; But when softly blow these winds around, I shall have flowers, my heart’s own best!

Dedication

I stand upon my quiet hill, And hear away the murmurs gone, And bid each wandering pleasure stay; So have I lived, so yield due woe, But breathes no doubt upon its shore,

Yea, but my heart’s best thought leads me now, To that pale midnight and misty way, Where breathes a silent splendor clear, And blesses each bright flower with golden sprays;

From where sweet[qua?] the glimmering flow And the soft huck and dew are near, The knolls of each quiet hour pass near, And speaks me fair beneath the silent haze;

A shadow grew upon the wall, Where summer’s crushing light bled forth, And left their magic here and there, And flings its high streams of new from star to star.

The sound of waters that like a sound, Came forth from my soft silence’ chain, But I am wrought with love divine, Until I drown in its full tide again.

The Day-Dream

As I was sitting in my chair, And with an eye more softly ask’d In the light of very summer moor And let me dream the thoughts I long for share,

Upon my own hill of joy I took my seat, Where all things sleep and stand with me, And lighted beyond the quiet sun, In this dream of scenery! And there were many flowers, Upon a leaf in a fragrant shade.

Now let me wander free beyond the hay, And dance where sweet breaths wake the day And trial paths in every tone: And let me dream what golden light<|endoftext|>is! And I have seen a flower drop ‘twixt the day

And drink the evening’s dew, as I glide and float, With soft murmurs among more blushing plants, And see mine ever-bending neck within soft delights, And still wing’d down the waves rolling to the flower-starred rills.

Come hither, let them feel the strands, And lend of love the fondest play; And bitter woe may bear to me that peace, I ever sit beneath this silent hill today.

To the River

Sweet is the breeze thou breathe’st about, O river, as thou flowest through, While rippling where the broad stream plays, The frowning world stands silent too.

And thou dost fondly haunter both, Long streams going at thy will; My heart wields comfort, and much joy, As all the world turns warm and still.

And as it flows, thy current rolls, And weaves red weaving hues of light, So round a bend the willow stands, With arms so silently delight.

With amaranths scattered all along, And wounded winds of summer blow: There flow sweet breezes lining soft, O’er weedy banks with joy I know.

And let me follow thee to dance, With all those dreams to turn and cry, But I fear within the sleepy day— O river, let me deck the sky!

And trust me while the summer play, As flow from green against the spread; And stand a bosom lightly warm, And lift the heart perfectly healed!

What are those thoughts when love bids me love, And never lose thine earthly guise, As thou bear’st stones on parted strays, Here on this bank where beauty sighs?

And when this hour of clarity sweeps, Where silent breezes bless in tune, Let the red sun abate the day; And with thee winding I’m like hope.

The Sea

O, that sea—one of nature’s own! With high seas yellow-streaked and wide, Beyond the sandy flights shall flow And waver down the slow glide.

The seas following ever-more, And sounding chimes and changes close; And thus, O sea, dost glide towards us; Each motion crisp, it boast of flowers! —

‘Tis here the tides of sunny storms, The puffing clouds with inklings lean; While winds weave breaks of noise and chance, The pleasures come of short delight.

Oh let me live near thee for ever, And sing to shape the billows soft; That I might wander where love passes, The which each crave to beyond loft!

Now chase the northern winds at eve, And let me drift across the shore; With thee to ebb of summer’s grace, With thee shall all delight have engagement.

Where seas sweep by, and shadow flows, Loosen me out to thy wrath, A calm of circling, happy waves— Alone shall waft beyond defeat!.

Thus tread the skies of passage gray, Set thee to wander far from home— And all its break about thy face, Until thy falling day doth come.

In this sweet wonder of the morn, Let every flower grow its way! As those who live in fearless blush, Amid the stars, we light a dream to say.

Above each trembling sail goes low, And on before the glassy sun, All storms sweet mellow to glow, And thus comes soft to coast and home.

The Idylls of the King

From the avant mound upon the morn, To slumber far from white retreat, Where blows the fragrance out of fields, With love from hills and parted paths.

Look off upon the sea of night, And stay in that standing close and far: Set sail in joyous token sweet, While drowsily stirs the swallowing moon.

Now call, thou fair and friendly seer, With heaven’s flow and might and power, As suns of dusk allure the night; We shall over-ball the clouds lull soon.

O, break at moon’s slow passion till—to Where every tranquil thought flees free, And winds in blossoms over fields; Thus hoping to hold where once thou art.

So let a beauty reign above That rests in circles flowing through; As wrapped in gentler soars, give love As blooms upon sweet grass to you!

Serene drink leads to starlit joys, With kindliness of nature’s heart; But in that joyous season’s bloom, Let us escape that night apart.

So find within the calm rising dew, Where scents of plucking flowers shout; As gray and gold cut on the bay, With half-moon thrills like a sprout

And meadows lying low and sweet, As drifted wind weaves down and chill; So take the breath of pleasant calm— For all your peace will greatening thrill.

To maidens dancing in a ridge, This beauty bodes of away west; For nature speaks, and love’s return, To pluck out gentle pause from rest!.

They twine their hands with lovely leaves, Emeralds and sapphire skies they yield, While flowers of summer seem as train, To sweeten all the paths we wield.

And thus I stand at the glee, And wait in waking smile of thee, While love with its glory blends Gives way to dwell where hearts entwine!

Now sleeps the Crimson Petal

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Now lies the summer in the wane and slowly, And, by clinging ivy in the red walls rise.

Like trees that climb and crawl in every shore, And little creepy creatures climb and prance, To bathe in night’s warm fold of gentle hours, With those that dance where rustling brooks entranc’d.

So for a time let all those moments bide, Till wandering dreams twine the green and gentle night, Then like a summer day—I long to abide ‘Till we, O love, are kindled into light!

• Alfred Lord Tennyson