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Poem by James Payn Grisedale Beck MY gentle stream, with constant smile and bright, I miss thy loving looks and winding ways, Thy murmurous accents glad of yesternight, Sweet as from earnest lips the words of praise; Where art thou, friend? I hear the impetuous noise Of hurried passion, the unmeaning roar Of some wild torrent: it is not thy voice! Nor doth thy wave respect its wonted shore, But arrowy-straight in frantic fury springs. I grieve that I e’er knew thee: happy heart And noble, that with either moods hath part: Mine hath not; but with timid love it clings Conscious of weakness: and it doth so lean To some boy-friends grown hard and headstrong men. James Payn James Payn's other poems: 1170 Views |
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