MY love o'er the water bends dreaming;
It glideth and glideth away:
She sees there her own beauty, gleaming
Through shadow and ripple and spray.
O tell her, thou murmuring river,
As past her your light wavelets roll,
How steadfast that image for ever
Shines pure in pure depths of my soul.
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
Top James Thomson Poems
Analysis and Comments on Sunday up the River
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Sunday up the River here.