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.
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