Old Idea, An
AN OLD IDEA.
Stream of my life, dull, placid river, flow I have no fear of the engulphing seas:
Neither I look before me nor behind,
But lying mute with wave-dipp'd hand, float on.
It was not always so. My brethren, see
This oar-stain'd, trembling palm. It keeps the sign
Of youth's mad wrestling with the waves that drift
Immutably, eternally along. I would have had them flow through fields and flowers,
Giving and taking fireshness, perfume, joy; It winds through - here.
Be silent, O nay soul I - The finger of God's wisdom drew its lineo
So I lean back and look up to the stars,
And count the ripples circling to the shore,
And watch the solemn river rolling on
Until it widen to the open seas.
Stream of my life, dull, placid river, flow I have no fear of the engulphing seas:
Neither I look before me nor behind,
But lying mute with wave-dipp'd hand, float on.
It was not always so. My brethren, see
This oar-stain'd, trembling palm. It keeps the sign
Of youth's mad wrestling with the waves that drift
Immutably, eternally along. I would have had them flow through fields and flowers,
Giving and taking fireshness, perfume, joy; It winds through - here.
Be silent, O nay soul I - The finger of God's wisdom drew its lineo
So I lean back and look up to the stars,
And count the ripples circling to the shore,
And watch the solemn river rolling on
Until it widen to the open seas.
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