Classic Poem

Through Porton village, under the bridge,
A clear bourne floweth, with grasses trailing,
Wherein are shadows of white clouds sailing,
And elms that shelter under the ridge.

Through Porton village we passed one day,
Marching the plain for mile on mile,
And crossed the bridge in single file,
Happily singing, and marched away

Over the bridge where the shallow races,
Under a clear and frosty sky:
And the winterbourne, as we marched by,
Mirrored a thousand laughing faces.

O, do we trouble you, Porton river,
We who laughing passed, and after
Found a resting-place for laughter?
Over here, where the poplars shiver

By stagnant waters, we lie rotten.
On windless nights, in the lonely places,
There, where the winter water races,
O, Porton river, are we forgotten?

Through Porton village, under the bridge,
The clear bourne floweth with grasses trailing,
Wherein are shadows of light cloud sailing,
And elms that shelter under the ridge.

The pale moon she comes and looks;
Over the lonely spire she climbs;
For there she is lovelier many times
Than in the little broken brooks.