Charles Kingsley Poems

Oh she tripped over Ocknell plain,
And down by Bradley Water;
And the fairest maid on the forest side
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Wearily stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland;
Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone.
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Wild wild wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing?
Dark dark night, wilt thou never wear away?
Cold cold church, in thy death sleep lying,
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Soft soft wind, from out the sweet south sliding,
Waft thy silver cloud webs athwart the summer sea;
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Hark! hark! hark!
The lark sings high in the dark.
The were wolves mutter, the night hawks moan,
The raven croaks from the Raven-stone;
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A King is dead! Another master mind
Is summoned from the world-wide council hall.
Ah, for some seer, to say what links behind-
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List a tale a fairy sent us
Fresh from dear Mundi Juventus.
When Love and all the world was young,
And birds conversed as well as sung;
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Yon sound's neither sheep-bell nor bark,
They're running-they're running, Go hark!
The sport may be lost by a moment's delay;
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How will it dawn, the coming Christmas Day?
A northern Christmas, such as painters love,
And kinsfolk, shaking hands but once a year,
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Come away with me, Tom,
Term and talk are done;
My poor lads are reaping,
Busy every one.
...