 | Gathered poems of Ernest Myers |  |
92
SWEET WATER AND SALT
Flow on, sweet stream, and let thy bosom calm
To the calm rising moon her mirror be;
While moon and sky and earth are breathing balm,
Flow on, sweet stream, on to the bitter sea.
To the calm rising moon her mirror be;
While moon and sky and earth are breathing balm,
Flow on, sweet stream, on to the bitter sea.
Thy breast is still, but down thy bank the wings
Of gentle airs creeping scarce visibly
Stir the quick sap in all green woodland things:
Wind, quickening stream, on to the barren sea.
Of gentle airs creeping scarce visibly
Stir the quick sap in all green woodland things:
Wind, quickening stream, on to the barren sea.
But now I past where that broad pleasance lay,
Sloping to meet thee its long-shadowed lea,
While eager children frolicked in the hay:
Laugh, happy stream, on to the moaning sea.
Sloping to meet thee its long-shadowed lea,
While eager children frolicked in the hay:
Laugh, happy stream, on to the moaning sea.
93
Then next I came where gleeful boys would lave
Their plunging limbs in healthful revelry,
Fresh youth made younger by thy freshening wave:
Run, youth-loved stream, on to the ancient sea.
Their plunging limbs in healthful revelry,
Fresh youth made younger by thy freshening wave:
Run, youth-loved stream, on to the ancient sea.
A boat I past that man and maiden bare
Spell-bound in trustful hope and tender glee;
Their whispered words scarce moved the brooding air:
Steal, gentle stream, on to the loveless sea.
Spell-bound in trustful hope and tender glee;
Their whispered words scarce moved the brooding air:
Steal, gentle stream, on to the loveless sea.
And there again amid rook-haunted trees
Didst thou glide past the ivied priory,
A symbol hoar of meditative peace:
Glide on, still stream, on to the toilful sea.
Didst thou glide past the ivied priory,
A symbol hoar of meditative peace:
Glide on, still stream, on to the toilful sea.
These hours of setting sun and rising moon
Had power to melt my mood to moods of thee,
And all my soul to thy sweet soul attune:
Flow now, kind stream, on to the soulless sea.
Had power to melt my mood to moods of thee,
And all my soul to thy sweet soul attune:
Flow now, kind stream, on to the soulless sea.
| Gathered poems of Ernest Myers | |