By The Avon

Poem By Radclyffe Hall

In the meadows by the Avon,
Underneath the slope of Bredon,
There we often used to wander,
My girl and I.

All around the thrushes singing.
And on Sunday, church bells ringing,
Overhead the soft clouds floating.
White in the sky.

Still the waters of the Avon
Flow so gently under Bredon,
And on Sunday bells be ringing.
Clouds floating high.

But I'm sick at heart and lonely.
Nothing here has changed, save only
Just we two, who once were courting.
My girl and I.

Comments about By The Avon

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of HALL

Butterfly

Butterfly, butterfly, where are you going?
'Over the roses into the sky.'
Butterfly, butterfly, there is no knowing
When you'll come back again, so good-bye!

Eastnor Churchyard

I BE hopin' you remember,
Now the Spring has come again,
How we used to gather violets
By the Uttle church at Eastnor,

The Malvern Hills

The Malvern Hills be green some days.
And some days purple-blue,
There never was the like of them
The whole of England through.

The First Cuckoo

To-day I heard the cuckoo call.
Atop of Bredon Hill,
I heard him near the blackthorn bush,
And Oh ! my heart stood still !

Dusk In The Lane

Come, put yer little hand in mine.
And let it be at rest.
It minds me of a tired bird
Within a warm brown nest ;

The Meeting Place

I MIND me of the hawthorn trees,
With cuckoos flying near ;
The hawthorn blossoms smelt so sweet,
The cuckoo called so clear !