THERE IS A HILL
THERE is a hill beside the silver Thames,
Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine:
And brilliant underfoot with thousand gems
Steeply the thickets to his floods decline.
Straight trees in every place 5
Their thick tops interlace,
And pendent branches trail their foliage fine
Upon his watery face.
Swift from the sweltering pasturage he flows:
His stream, alert to seek the pleasant shade, 10
Pictures his gentle purpose, as he goes
Straight to the caver ned pool his toil has made.
His winter floods lay bare
The stout roots in the air:
His summer streams are cool, when they have played
Among their fibrous hair. &
A rushy island guards the sacred bower,
And hides it from the meadow, where in peace
The lazy cows wrench many a scented flower,
Robbing the golden market of the bees: 20
And laden barges float
By banks of myosote;
And scented flag and golden flower-de-!ys
Delay the loitering boat.
And on this side the island, where the pool 25
Eddies away, are tangled mass on mass
Tihe water-weeds, that net the fishes cool,
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