Down by Sevenhampton's waving fields there flows
A gentle-minded stream with steady motion,
That underneath the emerald-tinted boughs
Strives toward the drifting ocean.
Blue with forget-me-nots its banks appear,
And fragrant meadow-sweet and hawthorn bushes,
The lovely golden iris blossoms here
And many-flowering rushes.
On either side the spacious meads are spread
With luscious grasses, earth's warm-scented pillow;
The silver poplar whispers overhead
Down to the rustling willow.
The broad wide margin, rich with varied glow,
With starry daises strown, and golden patches,
Waves in the atmosphere and faints below
The weather-beaten hatches.
The bright marsh marigold, opening to the sun
Its large full radiance, dispelling shadows,
Passes the glorious wealth of beauty on
To the imperials meadows.
The purple cranesbill and the oxeye bloom,
Wild ragged robin here and golden rattle;
The sweet herb-willow breathes a rich perfume
To the water's merry prattle.
Dear winding river, companion of my thought,
Whose flowery banks have shared my exaltation,
And now my years are with some sadness fraught,
Dost pity my vexation;
Long may'st thou wander under sun and shade
And dream thy hours away in ease and leisure!
May all thy summer flowers be re-arrayed
In full, unstinted measure!
Much of Sevenhampton's Fields are now a golf course, but the stream still flows down to the River Cole.