At the Falls
In this deep solitude, amid the roar
Of falling waters, and soft folds of spray,
I sit upon the green and sedgy shore—
Sit silent, while the river rolls away.
What heed I here the hollow masquerade
That men call life? It surely heeds not me;
I am not missed from the gay cavalcade—
None whisper, “This was her place, where is she?”
Little I reck! The page upon my knee
Talks honestly, and yon white waterfall
Pours a deep voice of truth unceasingly,
While the gay world is but a masquer's ball.
Of falling waters, and soft folds of spray,
I sit upon the green and sedgy shore—
Sit silent, while the river rolls away.
What heed I here the hollow masquerade
That men call life? It surely heeds not me;
I am not missed from the gay cavalcade—
None whisper, “This was her place, where is she?”
Little I reck! The page upon my knee
Talks honestly, and yon white waterfall
Pours a deep voice of truth unceasingly,
While the gay world is but a masquer's ball.
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