Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel
A Song At A Waterfall - Poem by Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel
Athwart the voice of a wild water,
Falling for ever,
Do I hear some song of the foam's daughter
Is it song of a naïad, or bee,
Or a breeze from the tree,
Haunting the cave of the wild water?
For evermore leapeth the fall plashing
Into a pool,
And nigh me, away from the foam flashing,
Quiet and cool,
Lies a hyaline gulf olive-green,
Where ferns overlean,
And boughs embower the wave-washing.
In a clear hyaline, lo! the leaves waver,
While, as a cloud,
Stones below melt in the pool-quaver:
And with the loud
Shout of the waters blithe
Mingles, airy and lithe,
A tune, like a lingering flower-savour.
Fearless fronteth the sound-ocean,
Even as a bird
Breasting the resonant storm-motion,
Low is it heard,
Sundering soft the cold
Roar, like a gleam of gold,
Wandering warm with a mild motion;
Visiting every flower-blossom,
Floats and falls on the wind's bosom
Many a word.
'Tis ne'er a naïad who sings,
Nor aught with wings,
But a maiden fair as the foam blossom!
For now, disentangling the tree-cover,
Resteth she fair
On a stone, a mere child; and her own lover,
Of a heaven in her, laughs free;
While blithe as a bee
Singing she roameth the world over.
Ah! sweeter far than the fall roaring,
Or any wild sound,
Is the carol of thy young life pouring
Yet a vanishing voice of the spring,
With a fleeting wing,
Is thine in the realm of the long roaring!
For the bee will go from the wild water,
With blossom and breeze;
And thou, more fair than the foam's daughter,
Even as these,
Wilt fade with the hours away
From the weary play,
And the wildering roar of the wild water!
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