Thursday Sonnet: Thames Song

It’s pretty good a place, the Thames, to sit by
And think of all the ills that time repairs
When, laden with young love’s modest despairs,
One smooths regret under an indifferent sky.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
Indeed; and there’s not much more I can write
Now time is running softly to the night
Except I’m sorry things turned out so wrong.
You were as sweet as dreams to me, as gentle
As the rains of spring that tend the bars
Of Rome, where all my youth has been unweaving.
Sing, Thames, the softest lullaby in your canticle,
That I may close my eyes, like tired stars,
And learn again the stolen trade of dreaming.