 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
35
A SKETCH.
High from above there flowed a silver springWhit'ning with ruin'd foam a rocky bed,
And here it leapt through its own rainbow-ring,
And here through boughs that blossomed overhead;
And fleeing chased itself, and chasing fled,
Fretting the margin: or with noisy glee
Down clattering headlong into smoke was shed,
That, like an April shower, dropped lingeringly,
And last, its sport-time o'er, slept in the solemn sea.
| Poems by James Rhoades | |