Sunday up the River

By James Thomson

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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