SPIK'D reed and golden Iris bending over <br />Low-running streams, and that small pleading flower <br />We none of us forget, with foxgloves rang'd <br />In rows of crimson bells, and many more <br />From hedge and coppice and flat marshes, make <br />My glad mind wander forth where they were born, <br />When the dim dawn awoke with summer songs, <br />And June with glory crown'd proclaim'd the morn. <br />With glory crown'd! oh month of wealth untold! <br />From the high moorland sweeps the scented breeze, <br />Gorse spreads a golden pavement under heaven; <br />No stars can pierce the woven forest-trees <br />When night again hath lit her silver lamp,-- <br />Brooding above the homes of sleeping men <br />And wide-spread plains of God, who sleepeth not, <br />Till all the dykes are lustrous once again. <br /> <br />Murmur, slow streams, and sway within the wind, <br />Spik'd reed and golden Iris, while the day <br />Breaks red upon the plain, the moon grows dim, <br />And all the piled clouds are roll'd away.<br /><br />Bessie Rayner Parkes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/marsh-flowers/
