Sarah Coleridge (1802–1850)

(From Chapter XXVIII.)

I WAS a brook in straitest channel pent,

Foreing ’mid rocks and stones my toilsome way,

A scanty brook in wandering well-nigh spent;

But now with thee, rich stream, conjoin’d I stray,

Through golden meads the river sweeps along,

Murmuring its deep full joy in gentlest undersong.

I crept through desert moor and gloomy glade,

My waters ever vex’d, yet sad and slow,

My waters ever steep’d in baleful shade:

But, whilst with thee, rich stream, conjoined I flow,

E’en in swift course the river seems to rest,

Blue sky, bright bloom and verdure imag’d on its breast.

And, whilst with thee I roam through regions bright

Beneath kind love’s serene and gladsome sky,

A thousand happy things that seek the light,

Till now in darkest shadow forc’d to lie,

Up through the illumin’d waters nimbly run,

To show their forms and hues in the all revealing sun.