Sunday up the River

 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.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...