THE STREAM
by: Joseph Sheridan Le
Fanu (1814-1873)
- HEN moonlight
falls on wave and wimple,
- And silvers every circling dimple,
- That onward, onward sails:
- When fragrant hawthorns wild and simple
- Lend perfume to the gales,
- When the pale moon in heaven abiding,
- O'er midnight mists and mountains riding,
- Shines on the river smoothly gliding
- Through quiet dales--
-
- I wander on in solitude,
- Charmed by the chiming music rude
- Of streams that fret and flow,
- For by that eddying stream she stood,
- On such a night I trow:
- For her the thorn its breath was lending,
- On this same tide her eye was bending,
- And with its voice her voice was blending
- Long, long ago.
-
- Wild stream! I walk by thee once more,
- I see thy hawthorns dim and hoar,
- I hear the waters moan,
- And night winds sigh from shore to shore
- With hushed and hollow tone;
- But breezes on their light way winging,
- And all thy waters' heedless singing,
- No more to me are gladness bringing--
- I am alone.
-
- Years after years, their swift way keeping,
- Like sere leaves down thy current sweeping,
- Are lost for aye, and sped--
- And Death the wintry soil is heaping
- As fast as flowers are shed.
- And she who wandered by my side,
- And breathed enchantment o'er the tide,
- That makes thee still my friend and guide--
- And she is dead.
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