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.
Poem by
James Thomson
Biography |
Poems
| Best Poems | Short Poems
| Quotes
|
Email Poem |
More Poems by James Thomson
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on Sunday up the River
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Sunday up the River here.
Commenting turned off, sorry.