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River Song
By Kate Seymour Maclean
Swift and silent and strong
Under the low-browed arches,
Through culverts, and under bridges,
Sweeping with long forced marches
Down to the ultimate ridges,--
The sand, and the reeds, and the midges,
And the down-dropping tassels of larches,
That border the ocean of song.
Swift and silent and deep
Through the noisome and smoke-grimed city,
Turning the wheels and the spindles,
And the great looms that have no pity,--
Weight, and pulley, and windlass,
And steel that flashes and kindles,
And hears no forest-learnt ditty,
Not even in dreams and sleep.
Blithe and merry and sweet
Over its shallows singing,--
I hear before I awaken
The Bound of the church-bells ringing,
And the sound of the leaves wind-shaken,
Complaining and sun-forsaken,
And the oriole warbling and singing,
And the swish of the wind in the wheat
Sweet and tender and true!
From meadows of blossoming clover,
Where sleepy-eyed cows are lowing,
And bobolinks twittering over,--
Ebbing and falling and flowing--
Singing and gliding and going--
The river--my silver-shod lover,
Down to the infinite blue.
Deep, and tender, and strong!
With resonant voice and hole--
To far away sunshiny places,
Haunts of the bee and the swallow,
Where the Sabbath is sweet with the praises
Of dumb things, of weeds and of daisies,--
Oh river! I hear thee--I follow
To the ocean where I too belong.
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