Classic Poem

I.

Who, maiden, makes this river flow?
The Spirit — he makes its ripples glow —
But I have a charm that can make thee, dear,
Steal o'er the wave to thy lover here.

II.

Who, maiden, makes this river flow?
The Spirit — he makes its ripples glow —
Yet every blush that my love would hide,
Is mirror'd for me in the tell-tale tide.

III.

And though thou shouldst sleep on the farthest isle,
Round which these dimpling waters smile —
Yet I have a charm that can make thee, dear,
Steal over the wave to thy lover here.