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.
More verses by James Thomson
- The Castle Of Indolence
- A Complaint On The Miseries Of Life
- The Wine of Love
- Evening In Autumn
- Contentment