John Le Gay Brereton
A singing voice is in my dream
The voice of Erskine, on his boulders,
Babbling and shouting till he shoulders
Stoutly against the heavier stream.
No longer now my curtained sight,
On serried books and pictures dwelling,
Of long-neglected work is telling,
But looks beyond the travelling night.
And here no longer is my home,
For you and I are far asunder:
I hear again the cascade thunder
And watch the little pool of foam.
And where the water, pouring sleek,
In sudden whiteness flings his treasure,
I see you sitting, Queen of Pleasure,
Clad only by the glittering creek.
I hold my arms to you once more,
For O my longing flesh is aching,
And you, your rocky throne forsaking,
Come cool and radiant to the shore.
I see my girl of girls recline
On smooth rock sloping to the water;
Then savagely have leapt and caught her,
And limpid eyes look up at mine.
Love, Love, O Love, the embracing sun,
The trees, the creek, the earth our mother,
Who made that hour, give such another,
And make us—see us—know us one.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Erskine by John Le Gay Brereton )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- A pan fried fish…?, Mark Heathcote
- The Persecuted, Sandra Feldman
- wedding day, ademola oluwabusayo
- Dream the moon, Somanathan Iyer
- आंनि देरा, Bahadur Basumatary
- Oh Israel, Michael Shutt
- We Lost Our Run, Rites Ghosh
- Left are the words unspoken, Aditi Khandelwal
- Poetry, Tony Adah
- For Carl Harrison (My Life Long Friend), Dave Alan Walker