Henley-on-Thames

I see the winding water make

A short and then a shorter lake

      As here stand I,

      And house-boat high

Survey the Upper Thames.

    By sun the mud is amber-dyed

    In ripples slow and flat and wide,

    That flap against the house-boat side

And flop away in gems.

In mud and elder-scented shade

A reach away the breach is made

      By dive and shout

      That circles out

To Henley tower and town;

    And “Boats for Hire” the rafters ring,

    And pink on white the roses cling,

    And red the bright geraniums swing

In baskets dangling down.

When shall I see the Thames again?

The prow-promoted gems again,

      As beefy ATS

      Without their hats

Come shooting through the bridge?

    And “cheerioh” and “cheeri-bye”

    Across the waste of waters die,

    And low the mists of evening lie

And lightly skims the midge.