Aeolian Harp. 
By Allingham, William. 


What saith the river to the rushes grey,
Rushes sadly bending,
River slowly wending?
Who can tell the whispered things they say?
Youth, and prime, and life, and time,
For ever, ever fled away!

Drop your withered garlands in the stream,
Low autumnal branches,
Round the skiff that launches
Wavering downward through the lands of dream.
Ever, ever fled away!
This the burden, this the theme.

What saith the river to the rushes grey,
Rushes sadly bending,
River slowly wending?
It is near the closing of the day.
Near the night. Life and light
For ever, ever fled away!

Draw him tideward down; but not in haste.
Mouldering daylight lingers;
Night with her cold fingers
Sprinkles moonbeams on the dim sea-waste.
Ever, ever fled away!
Vainly cherished! vainly chased!

What saith the river to the rushes grey,
Rushes sadly bending,
River slowly wending?
Where in darkest glooms his bed we lay,
Up the cave moans the wave,
For ever, ever, ever fled away!