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Poem by Ebenezer Elliott
WHY, shower-loved Derwent! have the rainbows left thee? Mam-Tor! Win-Hill! a single falcon sails Between ye; but no airy music wails. Who, mountains! of your soft hues hath bereft ye, And stolen the dewy freshness of your dales? Dove-stone! thy cold drip-drinking fountain fails; Sun-darkened shadows, motionless, are on ye; Silence to his embrace of fire hath won ye; And light, as with a shroud of glory, veils The Peak and all his marvels. Slowly trails One streak of silver oТer the deep dark blue Its feathery stillness, while of whispered tales The ash, where late his quivering shade he threw, Dreams oТer the thoughtful plant that hoards its drop of dew.
Ebenezer Elliott's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail email@example.com