Poems (Eckley)/The Lima River
URMURING, murmuring, mournfully murmuring,
Swift on thy way to the sea;
So like human sorrow, which ever may borrow
From the torrent, its simile—
The soul not free like thee.
THE LIMA RIVER.
URMURING, murmuring, mournfully murmuring,Swift on thy way to the sea;
So like human sorrow, which ever may borrow
From the torrent, its simile—
The soul not free like thee.
Rushing, rushing, foaming madly, and rushing,
The river flows on to the sea;
The west wind is blowing, the foam-wreaths are throwing
Their colours in rainbows to me—
The soul not free like thee.
The river flows on to the sea;
The west wind is blowing, the foam-wreaths are throwing
Their colours in rainbows to me—
The soul not free like thee.
Passing, passing, so hurriedly passing,
Kissing stray weeds at my feet,
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.
Kissing stray weeds at my feet,
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.
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.