WE CAN'T HAVE EVERYTHING

The Keswick Islands

The thorough fares between them
were once bright silver streams
Above the shining gravel
fair as childhood dreams.

Small heaps of smooth round pebbles
One could see here and there,
Where salmon spawned In Autumn
Amid the gravel fair.

The stones of many colours
Were beautiful to see.
O'er them the young lads waded.
They viewed the scene with glee.

The bright green of the islands,
The crystal waters clear,
Were things to long remember,
For this was beauty shere.

The greed of man has marred them.
The shrinkIrg waters too,
But still they lie before us
A very pleasant view.
When waters of the St. John
had reached the Keswick Vale
They formed there many Islands.
It is an ancient tale.

That ancient vale of Keswick
an intervale had formed,
A broad flat land of beauty
O'er which the forests swarmed.

The St. John plunging o'er it
cut many channels out
And thus was formed the islands.
We know beyond a doubt.

They were a thing of beauty
well worth a poet's rhyme;
And so they have been always
from the remotest time.

The Keswick Isles still linger.
They will while earth doth last;
But something of their beauty
away from them has passed.


Close Window