Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant (9 December 1864 – 27 February 1902 / Somerset, England)
At the River-Crossing
Oh! the quiet river-crossing
Where we twain were wont to ride,
Where the wanton winds were to sing
Willow branches o'er the tide.
There the golden noon would find us
Dallying through the summer day,
All the waery world behind us -
All it's tumult far away.
Oh! thoe rides across the crossing
Where the shallow stream runs wide,
When the sunset's beams were glossing
Strips of sand on either side.
We would cross the sparkling river
On the brown horse and the bay;
Watch the willows sway and shiver
And their trembling shadows play.
When the opal tints waxed duller
And a gray crept o'er the skies
Yet there stayed the blue sky's color
In your dreamy dark-blue eyes.
How the sun-god's bright caresses,
When we rode at sunet there,
Plaited among your braided tresses,
Gleaming on your silky hair.
When the last sunlight's glory
Faded off the sandy bars,
There we learnt the old, old story,
Riding homeward 'neat the stars.
'Tis a memory to be hoarded -
Oh, the follish tale and fond!
Till another stream be forded -
And we reach the Great Beyond.
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