Flood Time

1895

Across the vale the floods are out,
The floods are out with rush and rout;
Across the world the floods are out,
The land is in the sea,
And round the oak tree that displays
The bronze bright head in wintry days
The roaring current swings and sways,
Shouting his song of glee.

And landsmen now are watermen,
The robin, as the water hen
That makes her nest in reed and fen,
The robin's gone afloat.
The wind that rocks him to and fro
With a soft cradle song and slow
Pleases him in the ebb and flow,
Rocking him in a boat.

Flotsam and jetsam whirling by
The bridge where lovers meet and sigh,
The whirling crows flap wings and cry
And praise themselves that they
Have built their homes one story each,
In the tall masts of elm and beach,
And them no swelling flood can reach
Till all the world be gray.

The westward waters, cool, serene,
Mirror the sunset's gold and green,
A road of flame and emerald sheen
Broken to million lights.
The eastward waters take the moon,
Clad in the pearl from throat to shoon,
Whiter than any lily in June.
She scales the heavenward heights.

— Pall Mall Gazette.