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Show SWEET EATU.SBCRN. William Motherwell. Sweet Earlsburn, blytho Earlsburn, Mine own, my native stream, My heart grows young again, while thus On thy green banks 1 dream ; Yes, dream ! In sooth I can no more, For as they murmurs roll, They wake the ancient melodies That stirred my Infant soul. I've told thee, one by one, the thoughts, Strange, shapeless forma were they, That hung around me fearfully In childhood's dreamy day. And still thy mystic music spake Dimly articulate; Yielding meet answer to the dreams That shadowed forth my fate. I've wept by thee, a sorrowing child; I've sported, mad with glee. And still thou wert the only on That seemed to care for me ; For in whatever mood I came To wander by thy brim, Thy murmur were most musical, Soul-soothing as a hymn. I've wandered far in other lands, And mixed with stranger men, But still my heart uutraveled sought Repose within thy glen. The pictures of my memory Were fresh as they wore limned, , Nor change of scene, nor lapse of years, Their lustre ever dimmed. |