Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . ide by hazel-covers ;I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I my skimming swallows ; I make the netted sunbeam danceAgainst my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses,I linger by my shingly bars ; I loiter round my cresses ; And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. Yes, men may come and go ; and these are gone. All gone. My dearest brother, Edmund, sleeps, Not by the well-known stream and rustic
Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . ide by hazel-covers ;I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I my skimming swallows ; I make the netted sunbeam danceAgainst my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses,I linger by my shingly bars ; I loiter round my cresses ; And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. Yes, men may come and go ; and these are gone. All gone. My dearest brother, Edmund, sleeps, Not by the well-known stream and rustic spire, But unfamiliar Arno, and the dome Of Brunelleschi; sleeps in peace : and he, Poor Philip, of all his lavish waste of words Remains the lean P. \V. on his tomb : I scraped the lichen from it : Katie walks By the long wash of Australasian seas Far off, and holds her head to other stars, And breathes in converse s^asgns. All are gone, The Brook. 237 vSo Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a stileIn the long liedsje, and rolling in his mind. ? %. SEATED ON A STILE IN THE LONG HEDGE. Old waifs of rhyme, and bowing oer the brook A tonsured head in middle age forlorn, Mused, and was mute. On a sudden a low breath 238 The Brook. Of tender air made tremble in the hedge The fragile bindweed-bells and briony rings; And he lookd up. There stood a maiden near. Waiting to pass. In much amaze he stared On eyes a bashful azure, and on hair In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell Divides threefold to show the fruit within : Then, wondering, askd her Are you frora the farm ? Yes, answerd she. Pray stay a little : pardon me;What do they call you? Katie. That were surname ? Willows. No ! That is my ! and here he lookd so Katie laughd, and laughing blushd, till heLaughd also, but as one before he wakes,Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his looking at her; Too happy, fresh and fair,Too fresh and fair in our sad worlds best bloom,To be th
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