The Hill-Water
There is a little brook,1
I love it well
:2
It hath so sweet a sound3
That even in dreams my ears could tell4
Its music anywhere :5
Often I wander there,6
And leave my book7
Unread upon the ground,8
Eager to quell9
In the hushed air10
That haunts its flowing forehead fair11
All that about my heart hath wound12
A trouble of care :13
Or, it may be, idly to spell14
Its runic rhythms rare,15
And with its singing soul to share16
Its ancient lore profound :17
For sweet it is to be the echoing shell18
That lists and inly keeps that murmurous miracle.19
About it all day long20
In this June tide21
There is a myriad song.22
From every side23
There comes a breath, a hum, a voice :24
The hill-wind fans it with a pleasant noise25
As of sweet rustling things26
That move on unseen wings ;27
And from the pinewood near28
A floating whisper oftentimes I hear,29
As when, o’er pastoral meadows wide,30
Stealeth the drowsy rumour of a weir.31
The green reeds bend above it,32
The soft green grasses stoop and trail therein ;33
The minnows dart and spin;34
The purple-gleaming swallows love it ;35
And, hush, its innermost depths within,36
The vague prophetic murmur of the linn.37
But not in summertide alone38
I love to look39
Upon this rippling water in my glen :40
Most sweet, most dear my brook,41
When the grey mists shroud every ben,42
And in its quiet place43
The stream doth bare her face,44
And lets me pore deep down into her eyes,45
Her eyes of shadowy grey,46
Wherein from day to day47
My soul is startled with a new surmise,48
Or doth some subtler meaning trace49
Reflected from unseen, invisible skies.50
Dear mountain-solitary, dear lonely brook,51
Of hillside rains and dews the vagrant daughter,52
Sweet, sweet thy music when I bend above thee,53
When in thy fugitive face I look :54
Yet not the less I love thee,55
When, far away, and absent from thee long,56
I yearn, my dark hill-water,57
I yearn, I strain to hear thy song,58
Brown, wandering water,59
Dear murmuring water.60