Soft through a veil of amethystine mist The gentle waters shine, Tender and dreamful as a maiden, kissed By unseen lips divine. The sky is pearl, the hills are darker pearl; And far on yonder shore A gleam of silver -- is it not the swirl Of Southey's own Lodore? This is the scene anointed Southey's eyes And filled his placid days; And still these holy waters may baptize To beauty and to praise. |