What is the white river doing

What is the white river doing?

Rolling down like the rhythm in quartets, 

Flowing and overflowing in the slides of time. 

With the symphony of the waterfall, 

And florid birds of the void firmament, 

And gentle rain dripping under the crimson roses, 

And the ethereal voice of dappled cranes reverberating,

over the seas and rivers, mountains and snowy creepers,

 

And lost in the forlorn forests, time and death.

Sunrise and break of day, farthest in the morning bell and verdant dell, 

On the seacoast the seagull shrieks and dies 

Without water. Time is here, overweening and overwhelming or nowhere...