THE river is flowing,
The stars coming forth:
Great ruddy clouds going
From westward to north.
The rushes are waving,
The water’s still blue:
And I am behaving
Decorously too:
The amorous zephyr
Breathes soft in our ear:
Who hears not is deafer
Than adders, my dear:
Ah! list to the whisper
Of waters and sky!
Thames, vagabond lisper
Grows subtle and sly.
How trebly delicious
The air-draughts we quaff:
The hour is propitious:—
Oh! ... why do you laugh?