(11 September 1700 – 27 August 1748 / Ednam in Roxburghshire, Scotland)

poet James Thomson
#407 on top 500 poets
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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.

Submitted: Saturday, January 04, 2003


Read poems about / on: river, water, beauty, light, love, dream

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