To The Avon


    Flow on, sweet river! like his verse
    Who lies beneath this sculptured hearse
    Nor wait beside the churchyard wall
    For him who cannot hear thy call.

    Thy playmate once; I see him now
    A boy with sunshine on his brow,
    And hear in Stratford's quiet street
    The patter of his little feet.

    I see him by thy shallow edge
    Wading knee-deep amid the sedge;
    And lost in thought, as if thy stream
    Were the swift river of a dream.

    He wonders whitherward it flows;
    And fain would follow where it goes,
    To the wide world, that shall erelong
    Be filled with his melodious song.

    Flow on, fair stream!    That dream is o'er;
    He stands upon another shore;
    A vaster river near him flows,
    And still he follows where it goes.


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Return to the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; To The Driving Cloud

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