Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TROUT, by THEOPHILE JULIUS HENRY MARZIALS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TROUT, by                    
First Line: O gay little troutlet, that runs in the river
Last Line: The pool is all silent -- trout, thou art still.
Alternate Author Name(s): Marzials, Theo; Marzials, Theophile Jules Henri
Subject(s): Rivers; Soul; Trout


O gay little troutlet, that runs in the river,
With flicker of silver and ripple of weeds,
And rustle of rushes and larches a-quiver
On waters that eddy round eddying reeds.
All is a-grey, and the sky's in a glimmer,
A glimmer as ever a sky should be;
Silvery grey, with a silvery shimmer,
Where shimmers the sun in the hazes a-shimmer,
The shimmer of river, oh! river a-shimmer,
That hurries in cataracts on to the sea.
Cool grey trout in the coolness rushing,
From rapid to freshet, where, flashing and flushing,
The waters lap-leap, and break green on us washing
Our white lissom limbs in the roaring and rushing,
That shatters up beryls, bright-broken by thee.
Tickled and thrilling, we splash the grey glimmer,
And fling it up, kiss it up, brimmer on brimmer,
Up-rimm'd to our lips, in-mesh'd by the shimmer
Of drip-dropping lilies, 'twere madness to free.
O gay little troutlet, that ran in our laughter,
Loud as we sported the river along,
Dashing thy darting, and dancing on after,
Rimming the grey in the silver among.
And dancing and dancing, as when the god's fire
Be-striketh the satyr with fever and chill,
And madly he dances his love off and nigher
Wheels through the whirling bacchantes, and nigher
The ivy-trails tangle the goat-hair the nigher,
Till life and love-broken the dancer is still.
O troutlet, the wave is the soul of thy gleaming,
And chilly it striketh, and dancing and streaming,
You fling off your grey in the green river gleaming,
And mingle them river and troutlet, a-teeming
With dancy light sparkles, the heavier till
The bubble-ice barrier draws nigher and nigher,
All dancing is done, save red in the fire
The husk of the chestnut, as, harder and higher,
The rill is an ice-block, the river a rill:
I sit by the hearth, as the sedges, a sigher, --
The pool is all silent -- trout, thou art still.





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