Through grass, through amber'd cornfields, our slow Stream— Fringed with its flags and reeds and rushes tall,
And Meadowsweet, the chosen of them all By wandering children, yellow as the cream Of those great cows—winds on as in a dream By mill and footbridge, hamlet old and small (Red roofs, gray tower), and sees the sunset gleam On mullion'd windows of an ivied Hall.
There, once upon a time, the heavy King Trod out its perfume from the Meadowsweet,
Strown like a woman's love beneath his feet,
In stately dance or jovial banqueting,
When all was new; and in its wayfaring Our Streamlet curved, as now, through grass and wheat.
