The River-side

Far-off,

At the core of space, at the quick of time

Beats

And goes still upon the waters of all endings

 

Rabbits,

Handful of brown earth, lie low-rounded

On the mournful turf, they have bitten down to quick,

Are they asleep? – Are they dreaming?

 

Distant,

The lazy streamlet pushes his bent course mildly;

Here wakes again, leaps, laughs, and gushes

Into a pond, old, dark, cool.

 

Gross,

With the brook ebbing through slow; of the turf

I stand watching my own pale shadow quivering,

Naked on the steep, soft lip, to and fro.

 

Profound,

How it looks back, like a dog to its master!

I, on the bank all substance, my shadow

All, shadow looking up to me, quivers

As the water runs, runs faster,

Holding me slack; Ah! Splendid!

 

Marvellous!

Oh! The water loves me and folds me,

Plays with me, sways me, lifts me and sinks me

And it holds me – No longer shadow!

Close, and it rolls me, enfolds me, touches me

As if never it could touch me enough.

Sun,

But in substance, yellow water-blobs!

Wings and feathers ruffling, peewits wheeling!

All that is right, all that is good, takes substance!

And I hear the sevenfold lark songs pealing

And in wild confirmation, a rabbit looks