Our lives, discoloured with our present woes,
May still grow white and shine with happier hours.
So the pure limped stream, when foul with stains
Of rushing torrents and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and as it runs refines,
till by degrees the floating mirror shines;
Reflects each flower that on the border grows,
And a new heaven in it's fair bosom shows.

by Joseph Addison

Comments (7)

wish rivers were so easily cleaned these days
This poems truly reflects hope.
I like the optimistic spirit of this poem...
Lovely poem. Enjoyed the imagery and the rhythm. Great piece to smooth the mind.
This poem so enchanting to read and feel every lines and words. Wonderful
See More