I rest me on a grey stone bridge,
I think of other days,
Watching tumbling waters go
On many winding ways.
Always as it came and passed
Rushing fast and slow,
Its rumbling was musical,
The foam white as snow.
I saw the silver salmon rise,
To breast the surging weir,
Then failing, Backward fall again
Into the waters clear,
On came they to try again,
Flash o'er the flying spray,
Hide them in the river dark
Speed them on their way.
There in the cool of evening shade,
When the flood of time is full,
May I upon a bridge of gold
Repose when all is still,
Where silver salmon sport and play
Where glide the Swans of yore.
When all that now is life to me,
Is gone and is no more.
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