Flower Pieces and other poems By William Allingham: With two designs by Dante Gabriel Rossetti |
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THE VALLEY STREAM. |
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 | Flower Pieces and other poems |  |
85
THE VALLEY STREAM.
Stream flowing swiftly, what music is thine!
The breezy rock-pass, and the storm-wooing pine,
Have taught thee their murmurs,
Their wild mountain-murmurs,
Subdued in thy liquid response to a sound
Which aids the repose of this pastoral ground,
Where mingles our valley an awe with the love
It smiles to the sheltering bastions above:
Thy cloud-haunted birthplace,
O Stream, flowing swiftly!
The breezy rock-pass, and the storm-wooing pine,
Have taught thee their murmurs,
Their wild mountain-murmurs,
Subdued in thy liquid response to a sound
Which aids the repose of this pastoral ground,
Where mingles our valley an awe with the love
It smiles to the sheltering bastions above:
Thy cloud-haunted birthplace,
O Stream, flowing swiftly!
Encircle our meadows with bounty and grace,
Then move on thy journey with tranquiller pace,
To find the great waters,
The great ocean-waters,
Blue, wonderful, boundless to vision or thought;—
Thence, thence, might thy musical tidings be brought!
One waft of the tones of the infinite Sea!
Our gain is but songs of the mountain from thee,
O Child of the Mountain!
O Stream of our Valley!
Then move on thy journey with tranquiller pace,
To find the great waters,
The great ocean-waters,
Blue, wonderful, boundless to vision or thought;—
Thence, thence, might thy musical tidings be brought!
One waft of the tones of the infinite Sea!
Our gain is but songs of the mountain from thee,
O Child of the Mountain!
O Stream of our Valley!
And have we divined what is thunder'd and hiss'd
Where the lofty ledge glimmers through screens of gray mist,
And raves forth its secrets,
The heart of its secrets?
Or learnt what is hid in thy whispering note
Mysteriously gather'd from fountains remote
To the peak and the fell? O what music is thine,
Thou swift-flowing River, if soul's ear be fine,
Far-wafted, prophetic,
Thou Stream of our Valley!
Where the lofty ledge glimmers through screens of gray mist,
And raves forth its secrets,
The heart of its secrets?
Or learnt what is hid in thy whispering note
Mysteriously gather'd from fountains remote
To the peak and the fell? O what music is thine,
Thou swift-flowing River, if soul's ear be fine,
Far-wafted, prophetic,
Thou Stream of our Valley!
| Flower Pieces and other poems | |