The Angler's Haunt (By P. Dauherty) Poem by Andrew Wright

Deep in Devon's heart it lies,
Beside a rippling, brambled stream,
Once mirrored in my waking eyes,
It comes to me again in dream.
A quiet corner green and cool,
Beneath a hedge of tangled bloom,
The swirl of a romantic pool,
Where alders weave a tender gloom.

Behind - a lovely azure maze,
Fair bluebell squadrons guard the world,
Beyond, upon the raptured gaze,
The rough gorse flashes back its gold,
Birds dimly seen amid the screen,
Of lisping leaves that dance above,
Whilst amorous sunbeams slide between,
To kiss the summer flowers they love.

In the grey hush of dawn, whilst still,
Rich June advances to her prime,
Only the music of the rill,
Will break the silence of the time,
At drowsy noon the trout will swim,
Unseen in watery glooms beneath,
And draw below the dimpled brim,
The gaudy insects to their death.

The picture ever hangs for me,
In memory's hall serene and fair,
Untarnished in the gold I see,
The bluebell bloom for ever there,
In a charmed slumber seems to lie,
This sylvan haunt where none intrude,
Screened from the burning summer sky,
A deep unbroken solitude.