The Secret Splendour

Young-Hearted River!

When to your marge the slow night comes

With its innumerable gleams

To strew upon your gliding dreams

Kisses like pale chrysanthemums—

Young-hearted river, mutable, gay!

Forget not, in that cool embrace

Of naked shadow or the play

Of dim desire which throngs your gaze,

The ancient urge, the rapturous throe,

Beneath your surface' stellar stain,

Of floods from heights of endless snow

 And pure immeasurable rain

That voiceless silences might break

To echo far profundities

And the long-slumtering mountains wake

To seek for the unsleeping seas....

Forget not, while brief gladdenings flit

Like fireflies through your lowland years,

The longing of ecstatic tears

From infinite to infinite.

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