The Naiad

by Paul Jump

Ah, the nymph of this enchanted, veiled river:
How lovely she’d be to behold!
Her tresses must flow like the crystal-strung lines
Of the currents and the weeds they enfold.

How supple must be her long, delicate limbs,
How clear and pale must be her skin.
Mellifluous must be her smooth, soothing voice:
Countless lone hearts it must win.

How self-assured must be her light, dainty step;
Bewitching her languorous mien.
Vast boulders cleave at her sorcerous touch
And let her skip by in between.

Nigh irresistible must be her will:
Before her great Pan genuflects;
He gazes down into her deep, blue-green eyes:
And adores the fair soul they reflect.

She’s girlish, she bubbles, she giggles, she babbles,
To rocks she spits playful invective.
Yet her psyche’s deceptively deep:
Often she’s calm and reflective.

Often in undercut grottos she’s dug
She hides herself, still, calm and quiet.
Vast is her intellect: product of her
Wholly piscivorous diet.

Naked, she writhes in her soft, sandy bed,
And, oh, how I long to undress
And throw myself into her sparkling spate
And sink into her cool caress.

And merge with her, yield myself to her perfection
And swim with her out to the coast
And let her love wash from me all the clogged filth
Daubed on me by Mammon’s host.

© 2006 by Paul Jump


About the Author

Paul Jump is a freelance writer and journalist living in London. Contact him at



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