The Brooklet.
OO DEEP unlovely brooklet, moaning slowThro’ moorish fen in utter loneliness!The partridge cowers beside thy loamy flowIn pulseful tremor, when with sudden pressThe huntsman flusters thro’ the rustled heather.In March thy sallow-buds from vermeil shellsBreak, satin-tinted, downy as the featherOf moss-chat that among the purplish bellsBreasts into fresh new life her three unborn.The plover hovers o’er thee, uttering clearAnd mournful—strange, his human cry forlorn:While wearily, alone, and void of cheerThou glid’st thy nameless waters from the fen,To sleep unsunned in an untrampled glen.
OO DEEP unlovely brooklet, moaning slowThro’ moorish fen in utter loneliness!The partridge cowers beside thy loamy flowIn pulseful tremor, when with sudden pressThe huntsman flusters thro’ the rustled heather.In March thy sallow-buds from vermeil shellsBreak, satin-tinted, downy as the featherOf moss-chat that among the purplish bellsBreasts into fresh new life her three unborn.The plover hovers o’er thee, uttering clearAnd mournful—strange, his human cry forlorn:While wearily, alone, and void of cheerThou glid’st thy nameless waters from the fen,To sleep unsunned in an untrampled glen.
OO DEEP unlovely brooklet, moaning slowThro’ moorish fen in utter loneliness!The partridge cowers beside thy loamy flowIn pulseful tremor, when with sudden pressThe huntsman flusters thro’ the rustled heather.In March thy sallow-buds from vermeil shellsBreak, satin-tinted, downy as the featherOf moss-chat that among the purplish bellsBreasts into fresh new life her three unborn.The plover hovers o’er thee, uttering clearAnd mournful—strange, his human cry forlorn:While wearily, alone, and void of cheerThou glid’st thy nameless waters from the fen,To sleep unsunned in an untrampled glen.
O