Classic Poem

A Picture

River, flowing through the past,
 Seeming, to my childish eye,
Cutting through the mountains vast
 Thy bright pathway from the sky;

River, flowing through my youth,
 Glassing in thy sunny tide
Forms whose memory mocks the truth
 That 'twas years ago they died;

River, flowing in the sun,
 Ere as yet, far down thy way,
Vexing mills and laden ships
 Give thee toil instead of play;

River, 'tis a picture fair
 Of an evening hour I see:—
Rings the village church bell there,
 While we float all silently.

In our dory,—she and I,—
 Float through twilight toward the town,
'Neath the bridge's arches high,
 While the first faint stars look down.

O'er the boat's side as we lean,
 In the watery mirror clear
She looks up as I look down,
 And her eye-lash holds a tear.

Jewelled answer to my quest!
 Lives forever that fair dream;
For I caught her to my breast,
 And the tear fell in the stream.