OUR boat has drifted with the stream That stirs the river`s full sweet bosom And now she stays where gold flags gleam By meadow-sweet`s pale foam of blossom. Sedge-warblers sing the sun the song The nightingale sings to the shadows; Forget-me-nots grow all along The fringes of the happy meadows. See the wet lilies` golden beads! The river-nymphs for necklace string them, And in the sighing of the reeds You hear the song their lovers sing them. Gold sun, blue air, green shimmering leaves, The weir`s old song--the wood`s old story-- Such spells the enchanting Summer weaves She holds me in a web of glory. And you--with head against my arm And subtle wiles that seek to hold me-- Not even you can add a charm To the sweet sorceries that enfold me. Yet lean there still! The hour is ours; If we should move the charm might shiver And joyless sun and scentless flowers Might mock a disenchanted river.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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