Robert Laurence Binyon - Bab—Lock—Hythe

In the time of wild roses
As up Thames we travelled
Where 'mid water--weeds ravelled
The lily uncloses,

To his old shores the river
A new song was singing,
And young shoots were springing
On old roots for ever.

Dog--daisies were dancing,
And flags flamed in cluster,
On the dark stream a lustre
Now blurred and now glancing.

A tall reed down--weighing,
The sedge--warbler fluttered;
One sweet note he uttered,
Then left it soft--swaying.

By the bank's sandy hollow
My dipt oars went beating,
And past our bows fleeting
Blue--backed shone the swallow.

High woods, heron--haunted,
Rose, changed, as we rounded
Old hills greenly mounded,
To meadows enchanted;

A dream ever moulded
Afresh for our wonder,
Still opening asunder
For the stream many--folded;

Till sunset was rimming
The West with pale flushes;
Behind the black rushes
The last light was dimming;

And the lonely stream, hiding
Shy birds, grew more lonely,
And with us was only
The noise of our gliding.

In cloud of gray weather
The evening o'erdarkened.
In the stillness we hearkened;
Our hearts sang together.

Robert Laurence Binyon

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