 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Cold Spring In North Salem
Thou small, yet ever-bubbling spring
Hid by low hillocks round,
And oaks whose stretching branches fling
Their shadows on the ground;
Hid by low hillocks round,
And oaks whose stretching branches fling
Their shadows on the ground;
I stoop upon thy stony brim
To taste thy waters sweet,
For I am weary and worn of limb,
And joy thy sight to meet.
To taste thy waters sweet,
For I am weary and worn of limb,
And joy thy sight to meet.
232
I would not from thy free bowl scare
The birds from the boughs above,
But learn with them this fount to share
As the gift of a Father's love.
The birds from the boughs above,
But learn with them this fount to share
As the gift of a Father's love.
Thou hast joy in this thy wilderness,
In thy still yet constant flow;
Such as one from pure and perfect bliss
Alone with thee can know.
In thy still yet constant flow;
Such as one from pure and perfect bliss
Alone with thee can know.
Oh, seldom may the Sea, that near
Sends up its frequent tide,
Mix with thy cooling waters clear
And in thy breast abide!
Sends up its frequent tide,
Mix with thy cooling waters clear
And in thy breast abide!
And if perchance a lengthened wave
Should o'er thy margin swell,
Quick may thy bubbling freshness save
And the salt brine repel.
Should o'er thy margin swell,
Quick may thy bubbling freshness save
And the salt brine repel.
Poem No. 668–697; October-November 1842
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |