Classic Poem

Sky, that rollest ever,
It is given to thee
To roll above the river
Rolling to the sea.

Truer is thy mirror
In the lake or sea;
But thou lovest error
More than constancy.

And the river running
Fast into the sea,
His wild hurry shunning
All thy love and thee;

Not a moment staying
To return thy smiles,
Sees thee still displaying
All thy sunny wiles:

Till thou fallest weeping:
Then more furiously
All his wild waves leaping
Rush into the sea.