Where the slow rivermeets the tide,
a red swan lifts red wings
and darker beak,
and underneath the purple down
of his soft breast
uncurls his coral feet.Through the deep purple
of the dying heat
of sun and mist,
the level ray of sun-beam
has caressed
the lily with dark breast,
and flecked with richer gold
its golden crest.Where the slow liftingof the tide,floats into the riverand slowly driftsamong the reeds,and lifts the yellow flags,he floatswhere tide and river meet.Ah kingly kiss-no more regretnor old deep memoriesto mar the bliss;where the low sedge is thick,the gold day-lilyoutspreads and restsbeneath soft flutteringof red swan wings.