Poems
THEME/S
(God to the soul)
My friend of joy,
Why do you never let me row?
Or, you await, perhaps, the breaking of the oar?
When it will break, I'll part the waters
With skill of mine own arm;
For we two must decoy
The deep old river-god.
Where is the shore?
The autumn moon comes arm in arm
With his fair daughters:
You want the moon to think
You're rowing, but I think
The little ones yet know
That it is I.
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