Edwin Greenslade (Dryblower) Murphy

Mill Point, Mill Point, Mill Point, in the morning
(Dearest, how I'm dreaming, wand'ring lonely
London through),
When the golden glory from the sweet day's adorning
Shone upon your silver sand and wavelets blue.
Mill Point, Mill Point, day shall cease to be
When my heart remembers not all you meant to me!

Mill Point, Mill Point, Mill Point In the noontide;
Warm were the wavelets as they lapped your sandy shores.
Round the old deserted barge the kissing and the croon tide
Stole like a lover to the dear one he adores.
Mlll Point, Mill Point, here in London town,
See I once again the barges drowsing up and down.

Mill Point, Mill Point, Mill Point in the yester years,
Years before the Boche's bullet masked my eager eyes,
The sweetly sentimental years, the joyous and the jester
When the river rippled on beneath the smiling skies.
Mall Point. Mill Point, never shall I see
Ways that we have wandered to our happy trysting tree.

Mill Point, Mill Point, Mill Point In the starlight
Still I feel your kisses warm upon my longing lips,
Where we steered love's argosy towards the flick'ring far-light,
And in my arms you trembled to your tender finger tips.
Mill Point, Mill Point, shrine-like is your shore,
There our pathways parted, reuniting never more.


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