Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/1003

 RICHARD WATSON DIXON

801 Willow

THE feathers of the willow Are half of them grown yellow Above the swelling stream; And ragged are the bushes, And rusty now the rushes, And wild the clouded gleam.

The thistle now is older, His stalk begins to moulder,

His head is white as snow; The branches all are barer, The linnet's song is rarer,

The robin pipeth now.

��JAMES THOMSON

802 In the Tram

AS we rush, as we rush in the Train, A\. The trees and the houses go wheeling back, But the starry heavens above the plain Come flying on our track.

All the beautiful stars of the sky,

The silver doves of the forest of Night,

Over the dull earth swarm and fly, Companions of our flight.

We will rush ever on without fear;

Let the goal be far, the flight be fleet! For we carry the Heavens with us, dear,

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