 | Beads from a Rosary |  |
68
THE SONG OF THE WILLOW.
Flowingly, flowingly,
With a sound of pleasure,
Glide the waters of my own sweet stream;—
To and fro, to and fro,
Murmuring in like measure,
Wave my branches, in the sun's warm beam.
With a sound of pleasure,
Glide the waters of my own sweet stream;—
To and fro, to and fro,
Murmuring in like measure,
Wave my branches, in the sun's warm beam.
Day and night, day and night,
Sing we twain together,
Still the same, though sun nor star doth gleam;
Fearing nought, fearing nought,
Save the rude rough weather,
Which doth mar the quiet of our dream.
Sing we twain together,
Still the same, though sun nor star doth gleam;
Fearing nought, fearing nought,
Save the rude rough weather,
Which doth mar the quiet of our dream.
69
Deeply blue, deeply blue,
Is the heaven above me,
But I sigh not to behold its sheen;
Droopingly, droopingly,
While the stream doth love me,
O'er its bosom I must ever lean.
Is the heaven above me,
But I sigh not to behold its sheen;
Droopingly, droopingly,
While the stream doth love me,
O'er its bosom I must ever lean.
Caroling, caroling,
With a vain attraction,
Birds around me pour their songs of glee,
I but listen, I but listen
In a calm abstraction,
To a music, sweeter far to me.
With a vain attraction,
Birds around me pour their songs of glee,
I but listen, I but listen
In a calm abstraction,
To a music, sweeter far to me.
Dearest one, dearest one,
I can feel thee laving
My caressing leaves with fonder care;—
To and fro, to and fro,
With a wider waving,
Stream my branches in the sunny air.
I can feel thee laving
My caressing leaves with fonder care;—
To and fro, to and fro,
With a wider waving,
Stream my branches in the sunny air.
70
Love me still, love me still—
To be disunited
Would be pain and death to me, I deem;
Leaf and bough, leaf and bough,
Withered all and blighted,
Thou wouldst hear my voice no more, oh stream!
To be disunited
Would be pain and death to me, I deem;
Leaf and bough, leaf and bough,
Withered all and blighted,
Thou wouldst hear my voice no more, oh stream!
Love me then, love me then,
And we twain for ever
Will sing on through all the changing hours;
Resting not, resting not,
And repenting never,
That this happy fate, sweet stream, is ours.
And we twain for ever
Will sing on through all the changing hours;
Resting not, resting not,
And repenting never,
That this happy fate, sweet stream, is ours.
| Beads from a Rosary | |