George Darley

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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!