Sunday up the River
1834-1882
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.
DayPoems Poem No. 745
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/745.html">Sunday up the River by James Thomson</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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