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The Water Thrush 



By Miller Hageman. 



Silently down the mountain's crown 

 The silver-threaded streamlet rushes; 



As o'er the steep with flashing leap, 

 Its liquid laughter glints and gushes. 



Round cliff and crag and snarling snag, 

 Coquetting with fantastic caper, 



Upon its spray the rainbows play, 



Through curling wreaths of cloudy vapor. 



By rainy fails it loudly brawls 



Across its beds of winking pebbles; 



Trilling o'er spars of tinkling bars, 

 The flutter of its flute-like trebles. 



Through rocky rifts its rumor drifts, 



Through cowslip and through cress it passes; 



As with sweet glints of peppermints, 

 It gurgles through the tangled grasses. 



And in an out and all about, 



With many a whim and many a whimple; 



And many a nod of golden-rod. 



Its dappled waters dusk and dimple. 



Till, darkening in from lin to lin, 



"Mid evergreens and listening larches, 



It loves to hide with languid glide 

 Along its echoing isle of arches. 



See, on a rock the Throstle Cock 

 Shakes out it spray of airy sparkles; 



As round the smile of that small isle, 

 The dimly-lighted valley darkles. 



And still it gleans about the greens, 

 And plunges as the grayling passes; 



Where, open-eyed, below the tide, 

 It moves among the water-grasses. 



And who hath heard, thou brook-taught bird, 

 The rapture of thy rhythmic gushes, 



The liquid strain of whose refrain, 

 Mocks back the music of the rushes? 



O silver tongue so finely strung, 



O trickling words, O pebbly trilling! 



O holy hush, O Water Thrush, 

 The dewiness of sons; distillins; ! 



