Through grass, through amber'd cornfields, our slow Stream-- 
Fringed with its flags and reeds and rushes tall, 
And Meadowsweet, the chosen of them all 
By wandering children, yellow as the cream 
Of those great cows--winds on as in a dream 
By mill and footbridge, hamlet old and small 
(Red roofs, gray tower), and sees the sunset gleam 
On mullion'd windows of an ivied Hall.

There, once upon a time, the heavy King 
Trod out its perfume from the Meadowsweet, 
Strown like a woman's love beneath his feet, 
In stately dance or jovial banqueting, 
When all was new; and in its wayfaring 
Our Streamlet curved, as now, through grass and wheat.