When last he heard an unseen runnel sing
Among the bent,
Or caught the creaking of a plover's wing,
As down the slack it went
Slowly, with shrill lament,
His boyish heart but heard
The water and the bird.

But now that he stands listening on the fell,
After long years
The singing of the runnel seems to tell
A tale of hopes and fears
That fills his eyes with tears;
And grief for life nigh-spent
Mourns in the bird's lament.