Poem by Louise Imogen Guiney

The Tow-Path

Furrow to furrow, oar to oar succeeds,
Each length away, more bright, more exquisite;
The sister shells that hither, thither flit,
Strew the long stream like dropping maple-seeds.
A comrade on the marge now lags, now leads,
Who with short calls his pace doth intermit:
An angry Pan, afoot; but if he sit,
Auspicious Pan among the river reeds.
West of the glowing hay-ricks, (tawny-black,
Where waters by their warm escarpments run),
Two lovers, slowly crossed from Kennington,
Print in the early dew a married track,
And drain the aroma’d eve, and spend the sun,
Ere, in laborious health, the crews come back.

1. The Old Dial of Corpus
2. Winter Boughs
3. A Friend’s Song for Simoisius
4. Friendship Broken
5. Heathenesse

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