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. Of Joan’s Youth
3. Winter Boughs
4. The Vigil-at-Arms
5. Spring Nightfall

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