Within those dark green covers,
Whose shade is downward cast,
How many a memory hovers
Whose light is from the past!
I see the bright trout springing,
Where the wave is dark yet clear,
And a myriad flies are winging,
As if to tempt him near.
With the lucid waters blending,
The willow shade yet floats,
From beneath whose quiet bending
I used to launch my boats.
Over the sunny meadows,
I watch them as of old,
Flit soft and sudden shadows
That leave a greener gold.
And a faint south wind is blowing
Amid the cowslip beds,
A deeper glow bestowing
To the light around their heads.
Farewell, sweet river! ever
Wilt thou be dear to me;
I can repay thee never
One half I owe to thee.
Around thy banks are lying
Nature’s diviner part,
And thou dost keep undying
My childhood at my heart.
47
