Poems of Philip Henry Savage / Philip Henry Savage [electronic text]

XVIII

I KNOW not what it is, but when I pass Some running bit of water by the way, A river brimming silver in the grass, And rippled by a trailing alder-spray,

Hold in my heart I cannot from a cry, It is so joyful at the merry sight; So gracious is the water running by, So full the simple grass is of delight.

And if by chance a redwing, passing near, Should light beside me in the alder-tree; And if, above the ripple, I should hear The lusty conversation of the bee,

I think that I should lift my voice and sing; I know that I should laugh and look around, As if to catch the meadows answering, As if expecting whispers from the ground.