Fringford Brook by Violet Jacob
Fringford Brook Violet Jacob 1863 – 1946 The willows stand by Fringford brook, From Fringford up to Hethe, Sun on their cloudy silver heads, And shadow underneath. They ripple to the silent airs That stir the lazy day, Now whitened by their passing hands, Now turned again to grey. The slim marsh-thistle's purple plume Droops tasselled on the stem, The golden hawkweeds pierce like flame The grass that harbours them; Long drowning tresses of the weeds Trail where the stream is slow, The vapoured mauves of water-mint Melt in the pools below; Serenely soft September sheds On earth her slumberous…
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