| |
| AT noon, within the dusty town, | |
| Where the wild river rushes down, | |
| And thunders hoarsely all day long, | |
| I think of thee, my hermit stream, | |
| Low singing in thy summer dream | 5 |
| Thine idle, sweet, old, tranquil song. | |
| |
| Northward, Katahdin’s chasmed pile | |
| Looms through thy low, long, leafy aisle; | |
| Eastward, Olamon’s summit shines; | |
| And I upon thy grassy shore, | 10 |
| The dreamful, happy child of yore, | |
| Worship before mine olden shrines. | |
| |
| Again the sultry noontide hush | |
| Is sweetly broken by the thrush, | |
| Whose clear bell rings and dies away | 15 |
| Beside thy banks, in coverts deep, | |
| Where nodding buds of orchis sleep | |
| In dusk, and dream not it is day. | |
| |
| Again the wild cow-lily floats | |
| Her golden-freighted, tented boats | 20 |
| In thy cool coves of softened gloom, | |
| O’ershadowed by the whispering reed, | |
| And purple plumes of pickerel-weed, | |
| And meadow-sweet in tangled bloom. | |
| |
| The startled minnows dart in flocks | 25 |
| Beneath thy glimmering amber rocks, | |
| If but a zephyr stirs the brake; | |
| The silent swallow swoops, a flash | |
| Of light, and leaves, with dainty plash, | |
| A ring of ripples in her wake. | 30 |
| |
| Without, the land is hot and dim; | |
| The level fields in languor swim, | |
| Their stubble-grasses brown as dust; | |
| And all along the upland lanes, | |
| Where shadeless noon oppressive reigns, | 35 |
| Dead roses wear their crowns of rust. | |
| |
| Within, is neither blight nor death; | |
| The fierce sun wooes with ardent breath, | |
| But cannot win thy sylvan heart. | |
| Only the child who loves thee long, | 40 |
| With faithful worship pure and strong, | |
| Can know how dear and sweet thou art. | |
| |
| So loved I thee in days gone by, | |
| So love I yet, though leagues may lie | |
| Between us, and the years divide; | 45 |
| A breath of coolness, dawn, and dew, | |
| A joy forever fresh and true, | |
| Thy memory doth with me abide. | |
| |
