Related quotes: Know ye not that lovely...

Recollections of Our Native Valley

Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood,
With wildering sound goes winding ever.
Oh! often yet with feeling strong,
On that dear stream my mem'ry ponders,
And still I prize its murm'ring song,
For by my childhood's home it wanders.
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood,
There's music in each wind that blows
Within our native valley breathing;
There's beauty in each flower that grows
Around our native woodlands wreathing.
The memory of our brightest joys
Is dearer than the richest toys,
The present vainly shed around us.
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood,
Oh, sister! when 'mid doubts and fears,
That haunt life's onward journey ever,
I turn to those departed years,
And that beloved and lovely river;
With sinking mind and bosom riven,
And heart with lonely anguish aching,
It needs my long-taught hope in heaven,
To keep that weary heart from breaking.
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood.

poem by Gerald Griffin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Where Is The River?

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or somewhere else

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or hidden under the ground

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or safe inside the cave

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or still far away

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or up above the cloud

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or out of our reach

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or trickling on the rock

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or gathering in the pool

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or down over the cliff

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or just sight of illusion

Where is the river?
Is it here
Running in your eyes

Where is the river?
Is it here
Or sudden flood in the road

poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The New-England Boy's Song About Thanksgiving Day

Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way,
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house away!
We would not stop
For doll or top,
For 't is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the wood,
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes,
And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood,
With a clear blue winter sky,
The dogs do bark,
And children hark,
As we go jingling by.

Over the river, and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play-
Hear the bells ring
Ting a ling ding,
Hurra for Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the wood-
No matter for winds that blow;
Or if we get
The sleigh upset,
Into a bank of snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,
To see little John and Ann;
We will kiss them all,
And play snow-ball,
And stay as long as we can.

Over the river, and through the wood,
Trot fast, my dapple grey!
Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound,
For 't is Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the wood,
And straight through the barn-yard gate;
We seem to go
Extremely slow,
It is so hard to wait.

Over the river, and through the wood-
Old Jowler hears our bells;
He shakes his pow,
With a loud bow wow,
And thus the news he tells.

Over the river, and through the wood-
When grandmother sees us come,
She will say, Oh dear,
The children are here,
Bring a pie for every one.

Over the river, and through the wood-
Now grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurra for the fun!
Is the pudding done?
Hurra for the pumpkin pie!

poem by Lydia Maria Francis Child
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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prayer-River Voyage

My voyage is also
Sometimes, on a river.
The river is gentler.

Here I have time,
As it slowly flows,
To wonder
At the lush vegetation
On its banks.

Sometimes it turns
And my heart pounds
In expectation
Of what is waiting
Round the corner.

I love the river,
Of my prayer
It carries me on
To new vistas.

Sometimes there are
Rapids in my river and
I struggle to come past them.
Yet the river is true to me and
Soon it becomes gentle again.
I can gather strength in its
Gentle flow and peaceful scenery.

poem by Mary Mc Creath
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Right Across The River Bend

Right across the river bend there’s a warm gentle breeze.
Right across the river-bend are trees with yellow leaves.
Right across the river bend the water reflects the sun.
Right across the river bend is a smell of innocence.

Right across the river bend a robin’s egg is broken.
Right across the river-bend are peaceful mountain valleys.
Right across the river bend a dandelion is carried.
Right across the river bend are fields of shiny green grass.

Right across the riverbend are memories made to last.

poem by Alicia Page
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The River of Blood

It’s the river of blood
Initiated by the enemies of God
And when advised too or told to stop
They just give you the nod
The nod of ignorance and cruelty
The nod of no life and no feel
As they are told about they’re evilness
They believe that none of it is real
It’s the river of blood
That flows down a dark and red stream
And as I dip my hand in, it feels like sour, bitter cream
It’s the river of blood
The river of cruelty and pain
The river of blood
The river that flows in vain
The river that will never end
The river full of the dead
The river where they remain silently hopeless
The river where the majority of them bled
It’s this river of blood where I inject my power and strength from
It’s this river full of blood where my victory will soon come
The river of blood, the river that will soon contain me
It’s this river where my blood has long sought to be
The river of blood that shall soon end with an atrocious fight
The river of blood, the river that will no longer stay at sight.

poem by Marria Attar
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To The River Yvette. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)

O lovely river of Yvette!
O darling river! like a bride,
Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette,
Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide.

Maincourt, and lordly Dampierre,
See and salute thee on thy way,
And, with a blessing and a prayer,
Ring the sweet bells of St. Forget.

The valley of Chevreuse in vain
Would hold thee in its fond embrace;
Thou glidest from its arms again
And hurriest on with swifter pace.

Thou wilt not stay; with restless feet,
Pursuing still thine onward flight,
Thou goest as one in haste to meet
Her sole desire, her heart's delight.

O lovely river of Yvette!
O darling stream! on balanced wings
The wood-birds sang the chansonnette
That here a wandering poet sings.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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River Feeling

River feeling is
As simple as
Closing your eyes
For a moment.

Everything flows like river

River feeling is
As smooth as
Everything after
The first step.

Everything flows like river

River feeling is
easy as forgetting
Walking boots.

Everything flows like river

River feeling is
nice as
iron ties
Coming off.

Everything flows like river
Everything flows like river
Everything flows like river
Everything is good and flows
like river

poem by Julian Mann
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The Silent River

The river usually runs in such a great rush,
But, today, it is still, and there is only hush.
I glance over at it, in the darkness, as I pass:
I see the river’s surface is as smooth as glass.

It’s like the river itself is feeling the great grief,
Of losing someone, whose time on earth was brief.
It appears to be grieving for its long time neighbour,
Who, for many years, in the nearby store, did labour.

Just like people, it stands in silence, to show its respect,
And its many thoughts and feelings, it wants to collect.
No more will the river, running through this restful place,
See its neighbour with her eternally happy and smiling face.

From the river, to be heard, there isn’t a single sound:
Night time has fallen, so no ducks or swans are around.
Never before, can I recall the river being so totally still;
It’s as though it has decided to stop of its own free will.

From what I can see, and this may sound just a little bit mad,
The river, just like its neighbour’s family and friends, is sad.
It isn’t in the mood to chatter cheerfully, to dance, or to run;
Now is its time of remembrance: not a time for it to have fun.

Soon, it will continue on its journey, but it will remember,
The loss of this lovely lady, on the tenth day of December.
As it journeys onwards, its surface will shimmer and shake,
And, with it, precious memories of its neighbour, it will take.

(In memory of Debbie Baptiste)

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Life's River

Life is like a river.
It is faster at some parts
slower at other
but always putting
up a fight.
A fight to bring you down.
Some people allow the
river to take them,
giving up. If you give
up then you'll
have a harder time then ever,
but if you fight the
river, never going under the surface of it,
you will see everything at the
end, clearly for what it is.
Or maybe even in the middle of the
river. Either way,
life is like a river.
Always strong, yet gentle.
It will always test you.

poem by Nichole Herrin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Merri In Flood

The old Merri River in flood waters of brown
Is flowing on bank high on by Warrnambool Town
In and out of Lake Pertobe on it's sea going way
To join the Pacific at famed Lady Bay
The old river that is old even in time
That has inspired the poets and songwriters to rhyme
In the age of the dinosaurs the Merri was old
In full flood the river a sight to behold
In Summer by the banks of the river in the shade of the trees
The Indigenous tribes had their corroborees
Like the Seasons of Nature the people come and go
But the river on down through the flat country flow
In and out of Lake Pertobe and on to the sea
The Merri in flood is a great sight to see.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Dry River Bed

The river- was, but died away,
leaving behind sand and stone,
a dry river bed.

The river that once led the way,
To Rameses throne,
Has no more life- dead.

The river from which reeds grew and swayed,
now dead and gone,
all that's left-a dry river bed.

The river that was marvelous by day,
and treacherous once the sun was gone,
is now but a dri river bed.

The river- beautiful, no words could say,
left behind - just a dry river bed.

poem by Esnala Banda
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Free River

Free River flow, Free River
so cold, Free River
you’re getting old.

Free River don’t cry, Free River
you’ve run dry.
I still see you through my youth’s eyes.

Free River you told no lies, Free River
your path has been made, Free River
all things change.

Free River you made it to the sea.
The friends I swam with once
are now gone, left only me.

Free River you’re worth more than gold, Free River
I've grown old.
I’ve lived by you my whole life and

I’ve left my seed through my wife, Free River
I lie at your shore; now dry,
Free River it’s my time to die.

poem by Patrick Dumas
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Beautiful River

And he showed me a pure River of Water of Life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the Throne of God and of the Lamb." -- Rev. xxii. 1

Shall we gather at the river
Where bright angel feet have trod;
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?

CHORUS.