To the Avon

FLOW on, sweet river! like his verse

Who lies beneath this sculptured hearse;

Nor wait beside the churchyard wall

For him who cannot hear thy call.

Thy playmate once; I see him now

A boy with sunshine on his brow,

And hear in Stratford’s quiet street

The patter of his little feet.

I see him by thy shallow edge

Wading knee-deep amid the sedge;

And lost in thought, as if thy stream

Were the swift river of a dream.

He wonders whitherward it flows;

And fain would follow where it goes,

To the wide world, that shall erelong

Be filled with his melodious song.

Flow on, fair stream! That dream is o’er;

He stands upon another shore;

A vaster river near him flows,

And still he follows where it goes.