He had an envy for its black
Inscrutability;
He felt impatiently the lack
Of that great law whereby
The river never travels back
But still goes gliding by;
But still goes gliding by, nor clings
To passing things that die,
Nor shows the secrets that it brings
From its strange source on high.
And he felt "We are two living things
And the weaker one is I."
He saw the town, that living stack
Piled up against the sky.
He saw the river running black
On, on and on: O, why
Could he not move along his track
With such consistency?
He had a yearning for the strength
That comes of unity:
The union of one soul at length
With its twin-soul to lie:
To be a part of one great strength
That moves and cannot die.
* * * * * *
