A Sunday

A child in the Sabbath peace, there—
Down by the full-bosomed river;
Sun on the tide-way, flutter of wind,
Water-cluck,— Ever … for ever …

Time itself-seemed to cease there—
The domed, hushed city behind me;
Home how distant! The morrow would come—
But here, no trouble could find me.

A respite, a solacing, deep as the sea,
Was mine. Will it come again? … Never? …
Shut in the Past is that Sabbath peace, there—
Down by the full-bosomed river.
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