Page:The Poems of Henry Kendall (1920).djvu/109



, myrtle rimmed, and set

Deep amongst unfooted dells—

Daughter of grey hills of wet,

Born by mossed and yellow wells;

Now that soft September lays

Tender hands on thee and thine,

Let me think of blue-eyed days,

Star-like flowers and leaves of shine!

Cities soil the life with rust;

Water banks are cool and sweet;

River, tired of noise and dust,

Here I come to rest my feet.

Now the month from shade to sun

Fleets and sings supremest songs,

Now the wilful wood-winds run

Through the tangled cedar throngs.

Here are cushioned tufts and turns

Where the sumptuous noontide lies:

Here are seen by flags and ferns

Summer's large, luxurious eyes.

On this spot wan Winter casts

Eyes of ruth, and spares its green

From his bitter sea-nursed blasts,

Spears of rain and hailstones keen.

Rather here abideth Spring,

Lady of a lovely land,

Dear to leaf and fluttering wing,

Deep in blooms—by breezes fanned.

Faithful friend beyond the main,

Friend that time nor change makes cold;

Now, like ghosts, return again

Pallid, perished days of old.