Sunday Up The River
Poem by James Thomson
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.
Comments about Sunday Up The River by James Thomson
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.