 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
FRIEND BROOK.
Thou hastenest down between the hills to meet me at the road,
The secret scarcely lisping of thy beautiful abode
Among the pines and mosses of yonder shadowy height,
Where thou dost sparkle into song, and fill the woods with light.
The secret scarcely lisping of thy beautiful abode
Among the pines and mosses of yonder shadowy height,
Where thou dost sparkle into song, and fill the woods with light.
The traveler crossing the rude bridge, dear Brook, would never guess,
From thy staid movement through the fields, thy mountain loveliness;
Thou wanderest among weeds and grain in commonplace disguise,
Most happy to evade the glance of undiscerning eyes.
From thy staid movement through the fields, thy mountain loveliness;
Thou wanderest among weeds and grain in commonplace disguise,
Most happy to evade the glance of undiscerning eyes.
But I have heard thee whispering, “Call me by name, ‘Friend Brook,’
For that I am to thee; come up to my remotest nook,
And I will give thee freedom of the hospitable hills,
And pour my freshness through thy life, from clouds and springs and rills.”
For that I am to thee; come up to my remotest nook,
And I will give thee freedom of the hospitable hills,
And pour my freshness through thy life, from clouds and springs and rills.”
O happy soul! thy song is sweet upon the mountain side;
The trees bend over thee, in league to stay thy downward tide;
The wild arbutus, flushed with haste, trails close to make appeal
For brief delay, and after her the wet-eyed violets steal.
The trees bend over thee, in league to stay thy downward tide;
The wild arbutus, flushed with haste, trails close to make appeal
For brief delay, and after her the wet-eyed violets steal.
But not the white wake-robin, nor the star-flower on thy brink,
Nor any forest-shrub whose roots from thee refreshment drink,
Can need thee with my need, Friend Brook; and never any bird
Can trill such gratitude to thee as my heart chants, unheard.
Nor any forest-shrub whose roots from thee refreshment drink,
Can need thee with my need, Friend Brook; and never any bird
Can trill such gratitude to thee as my heart chants, unheard.
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No; not the wood-thrush singing in the pine-trees' twilight shade,
As if one half his melody the boughs' low murmur made,—
A love-song eloquent with breaks of speechless tenderness,
A music heard through thy soft rush, too sweet to tell or guess.
As if one half his melody the boughs' low murmur made,—
A love-song eloquent with breaks of speechless tenderness,
A music heard through thy soft rush, too sweet to tell or guess.
For thou respondest humanly, almost, to human thought,
Soothing the silent pain wherewith a stranger meddleth not;
Healing sick fancies from thy clear life's overflowing cup,
And winning flagging foot and heart forever up and up.
Soothing the silent pain wherewith a stranger meddleth not;
Healing sick fancies from thy clear life's overflowing cup,
And winning flagging foot and heart forever up and up.
Friend Brook, I hold thee dearest yet for what I do not know
Of thy pure secret springs afar, the mystery of thy flow
Out of the mountain caverns, hid by tangled brier and fern;
A friend is most a friend of whom the best remains to learn.
Of thy pure secret springs afar, the mystery of thy flow
Out of the mountain caverns, hid by tangled brier and fern;
A friend is most a friend of whom the best remains to learn.
New-born each moment, flashing light through worn, accustomed ways,
With gentle hindrance, gay surprise, sweet hurryings and delays;
Spirit that issuest forth from wells of life unguessed, unseen,
A revelation thou of all that holiest friendships mean!
With gentle hindrance, gay surprise, sweet hurryings and delays;
Spirit that issuest forth from wells of life unguessed, unseen,
A revelation thou of all that holiest friendships mean!
I will not name the hills that meet to hold thee hand in hand,
The summits leaning toward thy voice, the mountain, lone and grand,
That looks across to welcome thee into the open light;
Be hidden, O my brook, from all save love's anointed sight!
The summits leaning toward thy voice, the mountain, lone and grand,
That looks across to welcome thee into the open light;
Be hidden, O my brook, from all save love's anointed sight!
Yet I am glad that every year, and all the summer long,
Some wayfarers will seek thy side, and listen to thy song,
And feel their hearts bound on with thine over the rocks of care;
With such as these, through shade and shine, thy friendship will I share.
Some wayfarers will seek thy side, and listen to thy song,
And feel their hearts bound on with thine over the rocks of care;
With such as these, through shade and shine, thy friendship will I share.
And out of their abounding joy new loveliness and grace
Will grow into the memory of thy green abiding-place.—
Thou veilest thyself in sun-touched mists through which I may not look,
Yet blends my being with thy flow, in stir and rest, Friend Brook!
Will grow into the memory of thy green abiding-place.—
Thou veilest thyself in sun-touched mists through which I may not look,
Yet blends my being with thy flow, in stir and rest, Friend Brook!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |