 | Sonnets Round the Coast |  |
159
XIII. THE MULGRAVE STREAM.
You ask me why o'er bridges to and froAcross the stream, by banks of fern and shale,
I still must haunt green Mulgrave's woody vale,
Where Caedmon wandered centuries ago—
It is because the solemnest sounds that flow
By constant utterance, of their awe must fail,
That still the sweetest oft-recurrent tale
Palls on the heart that has refused to know.
But here the streamlet runs, not ever clear,
As if it hid the meaning of its tone,
And whether men will have it yea or nay,
Behold, it murmurs, Earth shall melt away,
Thought and sincerest song abide alone,
Be true and think and sing and have no fear.
| Sonnets Round the Coast | |