Millstream
© Millstream MMXIX

Gallery

The Old Mill-Stream by Eliza Cook

Beautiful streamlet! how precious to me Was the green-swarded paradise watered by thee; I dream of thee still, as thou wert in my youth, Thy meanderings haunt me with freshness and truth. I had heard of full many a river of fame, With its wide-rolling flood and its classical name; But the Thames of Old England, the Tiber of Rome, Could not peer with the mill-streamlet close to my home. Full well I remember the gravelly spot, Where I slyly repaired, though I knew I ought not; Where I stood with my handful of pebbles to make That formation of fancy, a duck and a drake.
Millstream
© Millstream MMXIX

Gallery

The Old Mill-Stream by Eliza Cook

Beautiful streamlet! how precious to me Was the green-swarded paradise watered by thee; I dream of thee still, as thou wert in my youth, Thy meanderings haunt me with freshness and truth. I had heard of full many a river of fame, With its wide-rolling flood and its classical name; But the Thames of Old England, the Tiber of Rome, Could not peer with the mill-streamlet close to my home. Full well I remember the gravelly spot, Where I slyly repaired, though I knew I ought not; Where I stood with my handful of pebbles to make That formation of fancy, a duck and a drake.