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Robert Laurence Binyon - Bab—Lock—Hythe
Work rating: Low

In the time of wild roses
 As up Thames we travelled
 Where `mid water--weeds ravelled
 The lily uncloses,

 To his old shores the river
 A new song was singing,
 And young shoots were springing
 On old roots for ever.

 Dog--daisies were dancing,
 And flags flamed in cluster,
 On the dark stream a lustre
 Now blurred and now glancing.

 A tall reed down--weighing,
 The sedge--warbler fluttered;
 One sweet note he uttered,
 Then left it soft--swaying.

 By the bank`s sandy hollow
 My dipt oars went beating,
 And past our bows fleeting
 Blue--backed shone the swallow.

 High woods, heron--haunted,
 Rose, changed, as we rounded
 Old hills greenly mounded,
 To meadows enchanted;

 A dream ever moulded
 Afresh for our wonder,
 Still opening asunder
 For the stream many--folded;

 Till sunset was rimming
 The West with pale flushes;
 Behind the black rushes
 The last light was dimming;

 And the lonely stream, hiding
 Shy birds, grew more lonely,
 And with us was only
 The noise of our gliding.

 In cloud of gray weather
 The evening o`erdarkened.
 In the stillness we hearkened;
 Our hearts sang together.
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