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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359189" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The River</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is a venerable place,<br>An old ancestral ground,<br>So broad, the rainbow wholly stands<br>Within its lordly bound;<br>And here the river waits and winds<br>By many a wooded mound.<br>Upon a rise, where single oaks<br>And clumps of beeches tall<br>Drop pleasantly their shade beneath,<br>Half-hid amidst them all,<br>Stands in its quiet dignity<br>An ancient manor-hall.<br>About its many gable-ends<br>The swallows wheel their flight;<br>The huge fantastic weather-vanes<br>Look happy in the light;<br>The warm front through the foliage gleams,<br>A comfortable sight. <br>The ivied turrets seem to love<br>The low, protected leas;<br>And, though this manor-hall hath seen<br>The snow of centuries,<br>How freshly still it stands amid<br>Its wealth of swelling trees!<br>The leafy summer-time is young;<br>The yearling lambs are strong;<br>The sunlight glances merrily;<br>The trees are full of song;<br>The valley-loving river flows<br>Contentedly along.<br>Look where the merry weather-vanes<br>Veer upon yonder tower:<br>There, amid starry jessamine<br>And clasping passion-flower,<br>The sweetest Maid of all the land<br>Is weeping in her bower.<br>Alas, the lowly Youth she loves<br>Loves her, but fears to sue:<br>He came this morning hurriedly;<br>Then forth her blushes flew!<br>But he talk'd of common things, and so<br>Her eyes are fill'd with dew.<br>Time passes on; the clouds are come;<br>The river, late so bright,<br>Rolls foul and black, and gloomily<br>Makes known across the night,<br>In far-heard plash and weary drench,<br>The passage of its might. <br>The noble Bridegroom counts the hours;<br>The guests are coming fast;<br>(The vanes are creaking drearily<br>Within the dying blast!)<br>The bashful Bride is at his side;<br>And night is here at last.<br>The guests are gay; the minstrels play;<br>'Tis liker noon than night;<br>From side to side, they toast the Bride,<br>Who blushes ruby light:<br>For one and all within that hall,<br>It is a cheerful sight.<br>But unto one, who stands alone,<br>Among the mists without,<br>Watching the windows, bright with shapes<br>Of king and saint devout,<br>Strangely across the muffled air<br>Pierces the laughter-shout.<br>No sound or sight this solemn night<br>But moves the soul to fear:<br>The faded saints stare through the gloom,<br>Askant, and wan, and blear;<br>And wither'd cheeks of watchful kings<br>Start from their purple gear.<br>The burthen of the wedding-song<br>Comes to him like a wail;<br>The stream, athwart the cedar-grove,<br>Is shining ghastly pale:<br>His cloudy brow clears suddenly!<br>Dark soul, what does thee ail? <br>He turns him from the lighted hall;<br>The pale stream curls and heaves<br>And moans beyond the gloomy wood,<br>Through which he breaks and cleaves;<br>And now his footfall dies away<br>Upon the wither'd leaves.<br>The restless moon, among the clouds,<br>Is loitering slowly by;<br>Now in a circle like the ring<br>About a weeping eye;<br>Now left quite bare and bright; and now<br>A pallor in the sky;<br>And now she's looking through the mist,<br>Cold, lustreless, and wan,<br>And wildly, past her dreary form,<br>The watery clouds rush on,<br>A moment white beneath her light,<br>And then, like spirits, gone.<br>Silent and fast they hurry past,<br>Their swiftness striketh dread,<br>For earth is hush'd, and no breath sweeps<br>The spider's rainy thread,<br>And everything, but those pale clouds,<br>Is dark, and still, and dead.<br>The lonely stars are here and there,<br>But weak and wasting all;<br>The winds are dead, the cedars spread<br>Their branches like a pall;<br>The guests, by laughing twos and threes,<br>Have left the bridal hall. <br>Beneath the mossy, ivied bridge,<br>The river slippeth past:<br>The current deep is still as sleep,<br>And yet so very fast!<br>There's something in its quietness<br>That makes the soul aghast.<br>No wind is in the willow-tree<br>That droops above the bank;<br>The water passes quietly<br>Beneath the sedges dank;<br>Yet the willow trembles in the stream,<br>And the dry reeds talk and clank.<br>The weak stars swoon; the jagged moon<br>Is lost in the cloudy air.<br>No thought of light! save where the wave<br>Sports with a fitful glare.<br>The dumb and dreadful world is full<br>Of darkness and night-mare.<br>The hall-clocks clang; the watch-dog barks.<br>What are his dreams about?<br>Marsh lights leap, and tho' fast asleep<br>The owlets shriek and shout;<br>The stars, thro' chasms in utter black,<br>Race like a drunken rout.<br>‘Wake, wake, oh wake!’ the Bridegroom now<br>Calls to his sleeping Bride:<br>‘Alas, I saw thee, pale and dead,<br>Roll down a frightful tide!’<br>He takes her hand: ‘How chill thou art!<br>What is it, sweet my Bride?’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Bride bethinks her now of him<br>Who last night was no guest.<br>‘Sweet Heaven! and for me? I dream!<br>Be calm, thou throbbing breast.’<br>She says, in thought, a solemn prayer<br>And sinks again to rest.<br>Along, along, swiftly and strong<br>The river slippeth past;<br>The current deep is still as sleep,<br>And yet so very fast!<br>There's something in its quietness<br>That makes the soul aghast.<br>The morn has risen: wildly by<br>The water glides to-day;<br>Outspread upon its eddying face,<br>Long weeds and rushes play;<br>And on the bank the fungus rots,<br>And the grass is foul'd with clay.<br>Time passes on: the park is bare;<br>The year is scant and lean;<br>The river's banks are desolate;<br>The air is chill and keen;<br>But, now and then, a sunny day<br>Comes with a thought of green.<br>Amid blear February's flaw,<br>Tremulous snowdrops peep;<br>The crocus, in the shrewd March morn,<br>Starts from its wintry sleep;<br>The daisies sun themselves in hosts,<br>Among the pasturing sheep. <br>The waters, in their old content,<br>Between fresh margins run;<br>The pike, as trackless as a sound,<br>Shoots thro' the current dun;<br>And languid new-born chestnut-leaves<br>Expand beneath the sun.<br>The summer's prime is come again;<br>The lilies bloom anew;<br>The current keeps the doubtful past<br>Deep in its bosom blue,<br>And babbles low thro' quiet fields<br>Gray with the falling dew.<br>The sheep-bell tolls the curfew-time;<br>The gnats, a busy rout,<br>Fleck the warm air; the distant owl<br>Shouteth a sleepy shout;<br>The voiceless bat, more felt than seen,<br>Is flitting round about;<br>The poplar's leaflet scarcely stirs;<br>The river seems to think;<br>Across the dusk, the lily broad<br>Looks coolly from the brink;<br>And knee-deep in the freshet's fall,<br>The meek-eyed cattle drink.<br>The chafers boom; the white moths rise<br>Like spirits from the ground;<br>The gray-flies sing their weary tune,<br>A distant, dream-like sound;<br>And far, far off, in the slumberous eve,<br>Bayeth a restless hound. <br>At this sweet time, the Lady walks<br>Beside the gentle stream;<br>She marks the waters curl along,<br>Beneath the sunset gleam,<br>And in her soul a sorrow moves,<br>Like memory of a dream.<br>She passes on. How still the earth,<br>And all the air above!<br>Here, where of late the scritch-owl shriek'd,<br>Whispers the happy dove;<br>And the river, through the ivied bridge,<br>Flows calm as household love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Coventry+Patmore">Coventry Patmore</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359189" data-title="The River de Coventry Patmore" data-description="It is a venerable place,
An old ancestral ground,
So broad, the rainbow wholly stands
Within its lordly bound;
And here the river waits and winds
By many a wooded mound.
Upon a rise, where single oaks
And clumps of beeches tall
Drop pleasantly the..."></div>
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