Short Flights by Meredith Nicholson - HTML preview

MY PADDLE GLEAMED.

MY paddle gleamed, the light canoe

The river’s waters glided through

With scarce a sound to fret the air;

The sun shone bright, the morn was fair

And from the South soft breezes blew.

O’erhead the swallows darting flew,

Then dropt to earth to brush the dew

From off the tangled grasses there

My paddle gleamed!

In form as perfect, fresh and new

As when they first in Eden grew

God’s gifts, before, lay everywhere;

Behind, the city’s toil and care;

Content, I joy’s full measure knew—

My paddle gleamed!