O Muse Divine

O thou, my Muse,     Beside the Kentish River running     Through water-meads where dews     Tossed flashing at thy feet     And tossing flashed again     When the timid herd     By thy swift passing stirred     Up-leapt and ran;     Thou that didst fleet     Thy shadow over dark October hills     By Aston, Weston, Saintbury, Willersey,     Winchcombe, and all the combes and hills     Of the green lonely land;     Thou that in May     Once when I saw thee sunning     Thyself so lovely there     Than the flushed flower more fair     Fallen from the wild apple spray,     Didst rise and sprinkling sunlight with thy hand     Shadow-like disappear in the deep-shadowy hedges     Between forsaken Buckle Street and the sparse sedges     Of young twin-breasted Honeybourne; -     O thou, my Muse,     Scarce longer seen than the brief hues     Of winter cloud that flames     Over the tarnished silver Thames;     So often nearing,     As often disappearing,     With thy body's shadow brushing     My brain at midnight, lightly touching;     O yield thee, Muse, to me,     No more in dream delights and morn forgettings,     But in a ferny hollow I know well     And thou know'st well, warm-proof'd 'gainst the wind's frettings.     ... Bring thou thyself, and there     In that warm ferny hollow where the sun     Slants one gold beam and no light else but thine     And my eyes' happy shine -     There, O lovely Muse,     Shall on thy shining body be begot,     Fruit of delights a many mingling in one,     Thy child and mine, a lovely shape and thought;     My child and thine,     O Muse divine!