The Stream

I know a stream Than which no lovelier flows. Its banks a-gleam With yarrow and wild rose, Singing it goes And shining through my dream.

Its waters glide Beneath the basking noon, A magic tide That keeps perpetual June.

There the light sleeps Unstirred by any storm; The wild mouse creeps Through tall weeds hushed and warm; And the shy snipe, Alighting unafraid; With sudden pipe Awakes the dreaming shade.

So long ago! Still, still my memory hears Its silver flow Across the sundering years,-- Its roses glow, Ah, through what longing tears!