SWEET THAMES, RUN SOFTLY TILL I END MY SONG
With rushes fenced, with swaying osiers crowned,
Old Thames from out the western country hies;
By daisy-dappled meads his course is found,
Bearing upon his breast brave argosies
Of stately lilies. Poets loved to praise
The stream whose tide doth calmly flow along,
And this the echo of their tuneful lays: