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The Lima River.
Gently washing the stone, as it lies all alone,
Apart from the world and its heat—
Like the poet-soul, lone on life's beat.
Apart from the world and its heat—
Like the poet-soul, lone on life's beat.
Murmuring, murmuring, mournfully murmuring,
The river flows on to the sea;
So like human sorrow, which ever may borrow
Its likeness, O river, from thee—
The soul not free like thee.
The river flows on to the sea;
So like human sorrow, which ever may borrow
Its likeness, O river, from thee—
The soul not free like thee.
