A glinting stream
Frets over the stones in the chine,
Murmurs its way through the pebbles,
Curling and swirling
And eddying around boulders, and pouting.
On its eager breast
Are flecks of yellow
Where the sun falls through the leaves above.
Farther along the brawling brook
A pool marks where the phynoderee
Splashed when from labour he was free.
Here is a throng of thrush and rook,
Of blackbird, chaffinch, linnet, dove,
Each with his fellow.
Trout lie at rest
Beneath where the gnats hang flouting,
Wings of gauze. Here are no rebels,
No rocket rasp, nor bullet’s whine;
No slaughter scream !
Mona’s Herald 6.2.62