Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867.
IV. The BrookHenry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)
From the Spanish
L
Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn!
The soul of April, unto whom are born
The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee!
Although, where’er thy devious current strays,
The lap of earth with gold and silver teems,
To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems
Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd’s gaze.
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent
As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye
Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count!
How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current!
O sweet simplicity of days gone by!
Thou shunn’st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount.