Page:Poems Cook.djvu/236

Waters, gentle Waters,
 Ye are beautiful in Rain,
Coming oft and pattering soft
 On hedgerow, hill, and plain.
 Wandering from afar
 In a cloud-swung ear—
Ye dim the blaze of noon,
Shut out the midnight moon,
 And veil the evening star.
The seed is in the earth,
 Of promised bread;
But ye must aid its sacred birth,
Or nations, press'd by starving dearth,
 Will groan, unfed.
Man may plant the root
 In some fair spot;
But where will be the spring-time shoot,
And who shall pluck the autumn fruit,
 If ye come not?
How the red grapes flush,
 Till the rich streams burst!
But your crystal gush
 Must have trickled first.
The ancient forest lord
 Had ne'er look'd proudly up,
Had ye not glitter'd on the sward
 That held the acorn-cup.
Waters, gentle Waters,
 Beautiful in Showers,
Ye help to wreathe the arms that breathe
 A perfume through the bowers:
Ye feed the blade in lowland glade,
 And nurse the mountain flowers;
Ye bathe Creation's lovely face,
And keep it young in every grace;
Where'er ye fall ye cherish all
 Most beautiful in Beauty's train:

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