 | Songs at the Start |  |
69
TO THE WINDING CHARLES.
Thou wanderer, what longing hath
Thee peace on earth denied,
Ah, tell me: constant in no path,
Thy pensive currents glide.
Thee peace on earth denied,
Ah, tell me: constant in no path,
Thy pensive currents glide.
From dim pursuit and mocking zest,
Would I could set thee free!
My soul hath its divine unrest,
Dear river, like to thee.
Would I could set thee free!
My soul hath its divine unrest,
Dear river, like to thee.
| Songs at the Start | |