Thomas Edward Brown
Sweet breeze that sett'st the summer birds a swaying,
Dear lambs amid the primrose meadows playing
Let me not think!
O floods, upon whose brink
The merry birds are maying,
Dream, softly dream! O blessed mother lead me
Unsevered from thy girdle — lead me! feed me!
I have no will but shine;
I need not but the juice
Of elemental wine—
Perish remoter use
Of strength reserved for conflict yet to come!
Let me be dumb,
As long as I may feel thy hand—
This, this is all—do ye not understand
How the great Mother mixes all our bloods ?
O breeze! O swaying buds!
O lambs, O primroses, O floods!
Thomas Edward Brown's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Lynton Verses by Thomas Edward Brown )
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(1895 - 1985)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928)
(13 February 1879 - 2 March 1949)