SHE took the oars and rowed along
With such a grace, the mere did waken
Into a sweet, melodious song,
At every charming stroke was taken.
And at each sound, the hills around,
By many a magic memory haunted,
And skies did seem with joy to gleam
Within the mere, her strokes enchanted.
Joseph Skipsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fair-flower/
