Sunday up the River

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Sunday up the River by James Thomson (B.V.)
Extracted from Quiller-Couch's Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900
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.