The River and the Hill
And they shook their sweetness out in their sleep,On the brink of that beautiful stream,But it wandered along with a wearisome songLike a lover that walks in a dream:So the roses blewWhen the winds went through,In the moonlight so white and so still;But the river it beatAll night at the feetOf a cold and flinty hill—Of a hard and senseless hill!
I said, “We have often showered our lovesUpon something as dry as the dust;And the faith that is crost, and the hearts that are lost—Oh! how can we wittingly trust?Like the stream which flows,And wails as it goes,Through the moonlight so white and so still,To beat and to beatAll night at the feetOf a cold and flinty hill—Of a hard and senseless hill?
“River, I stay where the sweet roses blow,And drink of their pleasant perfumes!Oh, why do you moan, in this wide world alone,When so much affection here blooms?The winds wax faint,And the Moon like a SaintGlides over the woodlands so white and so still!But you beat and you beatAll night at the feetOf that cold and flinty hill—Of that hard and senseless hill!”