CHERRYBROOK
Reading edition
Far more than others feel or see; Far more than others hear or know, Awakes and lives and throbs for me When by the Cherrybrook I go. For others, Bellevor’s green side And yellow furzes burning bright; Grouse heather, foaming like a tide, And stones that dance, or drowse in light. For others, just a singing stream Of flashing stickles, cherry red, That mirrors in her breast the beam, Like golden beads upon a thread. For me, a river of regret In every reach so still and clear— A streamlet, where I follow yet The Shadow of a brother dear. I see his trout-rod catch the sun; I hear the music of his reel; Knowing his kindly days are done, His good life gone beyond appeal. Now other rods are twinkling high; But the grey shape I used to bless, Lacking, the stream runs lonely by And Cherrybrook’s an emptiness.