Classic Poem

Why roams he by the river's brink?
Aye! has he angling in his mind?
O nay. He has no hook to sink
For any fish he here may find.
There, as he sees the river wind,
What's in his mind? Aye, in his mind?

Is he a trav'ller of a day
Who miss'd the bridge that's farther back?
O nay. He looks not for his way,
Nor cares to find a beaten track.
As there he lingers doing nought,
What's in his thought? Aye, in his thought?

Or would he cull the golden flow'r
Of clotes, or take the dragon-fly?
O nay. The tide to seek the Stour
For these has lately left our sky.
To him, a stranger on the ground,
What can be found? Aye, what be found?

It is that many years ago
He angled there in summer heat,
And that the bridge's rising bow
Then often bore his litty feet.
That, as he sees the river wind,
Is in his mind. Aye, in his mind.

It is that there he whilom caught,
With nimble hand, the dragon-fly,
And now beholds, in wordless thought,
The golden clote he once swam by.
There, as he haunts the river's bed,
That's in his head. Aye, in his head.