If light upon this river would not dim
If moonbeams lingered, stars would yet dwell near;
If when our Summer sang her final hymn
The shadows kept themselves far from this sphere;
I would, in earnest, make attempts to stay.
But Dusk climbs over every mountain’s peak
It’s spectral glance turns living things away
And quiets all those who would wish to speak
Still farther on, like wind across vast plains
I forge ahead, the scenes subdue my eyes;
By hidden roads, or those sight stricken lanes
I breathe, I wander, seeking calmer skies.
What use have I with cold and barren ground?
To Heaven, not this earth am I thus bound.
The Tributary 