1When the swift-rolling brook, swollen deep,
2Rushes on by the alders, full speed,
3And the wild-blowing winds lowly sweep
4O'er the quivering leaf and the weed,
5And the willow tree writhes in each limb,
6Over sedge-beds that reel by the brim—
7The man that is staggering by
8Holds his hat to his head by the brim;
9And the girl, as her hair-locks outfly,
10Puts a foot out, to keep herself trim,
11And the quivering wavelings o'erspread
12The small pool where the bird dips his head.
13But out at my house, in the lee
14Of the nook, where the winds die away,
15The light swimming airs, round the tree
16And the low-swinging ivy stem, play
17So soft that a mother that's nigh
18Her still cradle may hear her babe sigh.
1When the swift-rolling brook, swollen deep,
2Rushes on by the alders, full speed,
3And the wild-blowing winds lowly sweep
4O'er the quivering leaf and the weed,
5And the willow tree writhes in each limb,
6Over sedge-beds that reel by the brim—
7The man that is staggering by
8Holds his hat to his head by the brim;
9And the girl, as her hair-locks outfly,
10Puts a foot out, to keep herself trim,
11And the quivering wavelings o'erspread
12The small pool where the bird dips his head.
13But out at my house, in the lee
14Of the nook, where the winds die away,
15The light swimming airs, round the tree
16And the low-swinging ivy stem, play
17So soft that a mother that's nigh
18Her still cradle may hear her babe sigh.
When the swift-rolling brook, swollen deep,
Rushes on by the alders, full speed,
And the wild-blowing winds lowly sweep
O'er the quivering leaf and the weed,
And the willow tree writhes in each limb,
Over sedge-beds that reel by the brim—
The man that is staggering by
Holds his hat to his head by the brim;
And the girl, as her hair-locks outfly,
Puts a foot out, to keep herself trim,
And the quivering wavelings o'erspread
The small pool where the bird dips his head.
But out at my house, in the lee
Of the nook, where the winds die away,
The light swimming airs, round the tree
And the low-swinging ivy stem, play
So soft that a mother that's nigh
Her still cradle may hear her babe sigh.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
Remembering William Barnes — Watch a recent celebration of Barnes's life and work, which includes numerous readings of his poems.
Victorian Nature Poetry — Learn more about Victorian poets' attitudes towards the natural world.
Visit Dorset — Check out the tourism website for Barnes's hometime (which likely inspired the scene in "The Storm-Wind").
The William Barnes Society — Learn more about the poet's life and work from the society set up in his name.