Birket Foster's pictures of English landscape . ady coppice the waters, chiding, chattering, There we listened hand in hand,Started at the chesnuts pattering From the startled squirrels hand. The fox-glove bells we loved to tie To verdant spray of oak or in the brouk that glided by, Flung them as far as arm could we watched their course unsteady, Floating, struggling, hurrying on,Now in current, now in eddy, Catching now on root or stone. For maiden tongues of love will talk, And all their fancies turn on love;And when we pulled the tender stalk, And fox-glove bells
Birket Foster's pictures of English landscape . ady coppice the waters, chiding, chattering, There we listened hand in hand,Started at the chesnuts pattering From the startled squirrels hand. The fox-glove bells we loved to tie To verdant spray of oak or in the brouk that glided by, Flung them as far as arm could we watched their course unsteady, Floating, struggling, hurrying on,Now in current, now in eddy, Catching now on root or stone. For maiden tongues of love will talk, And all their fancies turn on love;And when we pulled the tender stalk, And fox-glove bells about it wove,And flung it in the tiny torrent, This he, and this is I, we cried, As fares each branch by wind and current To each shall weal or woe betide. There still the bubbling brooklet flows, And still the fox-glove blossoms high,And still the tender star-wort grows, By hanging cowslips pale and sister-hands apart are riven Far from the borders of the stream,And fate has different answers given To that, our maiden 20 XXI. FOUR STAGES OF THE STREAM. I. THE DIPPING-PLACE. From its spring-head, below the hill,Through clustering docks and reeds, It wound scarce seen, an infant rill,Untaxed for human needs. And other baby runnels ran To join with it in play,Till many rills in one, began The streamlets working day. Beneath its alder-shadows cool Cows made their summer lair,And shepherds dammed it to a pool To wash their fleeces fair. Then by elm-bosomd cottage-pales,Where the green coltsfoot grows, And lilies spread their golden sails,For household use it flows. The swallows from the broad-thatched, eavesBrush it with winnowing wing, And to its edge, through lush green leavesLasses their pitchers bring.
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Keywords: ., bookauthordalzielgeorge18151902, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860
