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.