Black lie the hills, swiftly doth daylight flee,And catching gleams of sunset's dying smile,Through the dusk land for many a changing mileThe river runneth softly to the sea.
O happy river, could I follow thee!O yearning heart, that never can be still!O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,Longing for level line of solemn sea,
Have patience,—here are flowers and songs of birds,Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,All summer's glory thine from morn till night,And life too full of joy for uttered words.
Neither am I ungrateful:—but I dreamDeliciously, how twilight falls to-nightOver the glimmering water, how the lightDies blissfully away, until I seem
To feel the wind sea-scented on my cheek,To catch the sound of dusky flapping sailAnd dip of oars, and voices on the galeAfar off, calling low;—my name they speak!
O Earth! thy summer song of joy may soarRinging to heaven in triumph. I but craveThe sad, caressing murmur of the waveThat breaks in tender music on the shore,
