The River

Winding and whispering, soft and slow,
The river flows where the wildflowers grow;
It laughs with glee in the sunlit glade,
And murmurs sweet through the emerald shade.

Rejoice, my heart, in the streams that glide,
‘Neath the arching boughs they daily hide;
Bring forth thy troubles, thy cares, thy fears,
And let them float on the current of years.

For nature sings in the rippling flow
Of the river wild where the wildflowers blow;
Each wave a tale, each bubble a song,
And in their embrace, I too belong.

• Hartley Coleridge