Merrydale Clough Poem by john thomas

O, to pause o’er Merrydale Clough
Upon that ancient bridge,
To linger with the sessile oaks
And ponder their lineage.

I rest upon the parapet
To gaze upon the bowes,
A pilgrim who but chanced to rest
Afore Scout Lane he ploughs.

O, listen to that singing Clough
Alive with silver stream,
That twinkles as if of the night
When vale be drawn, be clean.

And like those countless twinkling stars
So Merrydale Clough does play
Upon the eye, upon the mind,
Paints image ere to stay.

No longer turns that Scribbling Mill,
That stream did toil so long,
But on the breeze and whispering trees
I hear its ancient song.

That silver song of silver stream,
With guardian Oak above,
I close my eyes, turn back a page
And pause o’er Merrydale Clough.