Poems By Frederick William Faber: Third edition |
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LVII. | LVII. TO A BOOKISH FRIEND. |
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Poems | ||
204
LVII. TO A BOOKISH FRIEND.
Talk not of books; thou hast not been with me,Free and bareheaded where the wind is wildest,
Lifting its loud voice on the tumbling sea,
Or riding fast o'er Loughrigg's many knolls:
No, nor where ebon night's dread power is mildest,
In Kirkstone, when the wandering nightwind tolls
Hoarse minute-bells among the rocky towers:
Nor lurked at noon in Brathay's hazel bowers.
Thou hast not seen the dawn's first blushing beams
Gild the grey battlements of Ravenscar,
The hills, the pines, the hundred foamy streams;
Nor talked all night to some most heavenly star,
Where solitude hath got her holiest dwelling,
By the black tarn where Fairfield meets Helvellyn!
Poems | ||