Poems

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: (PONT-VAEN, NEAR CHIRK.) Where budding alders drop their trellised shadows on the stream, By the margin of the narrow meadow's golden breadth of gleam; Where round about the mossy stones the glimmering water whirls With bubbles making rings of light and strewing shadowy pearls; Where thro' the sunlights...
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: (PONT-VAEN, NEAR CHIRK.) Where budding alders drop their trellised shadows on the stream, By the margin of the narrow meadow's golden breadth of gleam; Where round about the mossy stones the glimmering water whirls With bubbles making rings of light and strewing shadowy pearls; Where thro' the sunlights and the shadows, by the ancient roots, Under the grey arch fringed with fern the arrowy ousel shoots; Where the larch's glorious greenness shines all up the slanting height, Greenness shining not a colour but a tender living light; Where the sorrel hangs its graceful bells; ere yet, with dreamy glow, The purple haze of hyacinths floats in the wood below;? There mid the margin-mosses, far from dusty ways of men, The Saxifrage with lavish wealth of gold endows the glen. Ah River, on thy glimmering banks, and down thy glistening sands, Bring not the golden grains to lure unloving eager hands; But ever pour about thy marge the flush of golden flowers, To make the heart rich with sweet thoughts to store for dimmer hours. Gbilbren's (Barben. (A PLOT IN THE CHURCHYARD AT WHITTINGTON RESERVED FOR CHILDREN ONLY.) Where is the children's garden-ground Near the church, where the stately lime Hums all day with a dreamy sound In the leafy summer-time. What is the seed in that garden sown It is poor and feeble and little worth, And we sow it in tears, in the cold dim earth Buried deep deep down. Tell me, when will the Spring-tide be When the Day-star riseth upon the gloom, And He who maketh each flower and tree Biddeth the garden bloom. How will blossom that garden-plot Rows of lilies, all pure and white As woodland snow-wreaths without a spot, Shining with living light. What are those blossoms so bright...