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* * * O'er golden sands my waters flow, With pearls my road is paven white; Upon my banks sweet flowers blow, And amber rocks direct me right. Look in my mother-spring: how deep Her dark-green waters, yet how clear! For joy the pale-eyed stars do weep To see themselves so beauteous here. Her pebbles all to emeralds turn, Her mosses fine as Nereid's hair; Bright leaps the crystal from her urn. As pure as dew, and twice as rare. Taste of the wave: 'twill charm thy blood, And make thy cheek out-bloom the rose, 'Twill calm thy heart, and clear thy mood Come! sip it freshly as it flows! George Darley's other poems:
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