The Fair Flower Poem by Joseph Skipsey
The Fair Flower
SHE took the oars and rowed along
With such a grace, the mere did waken
Into a sweet, melodious song,
At every charming stroke was taken.
And at each sound, the hills around,
By many a magic memory haunted,
And skies did seem with joy to gleam
Within the mere, her strokes enchanted.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: haunted,magic,memory
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