God made for Beauty myriad souls and streams That know defeat, and in their tragedy Carry but soil and burden to the sea, Hiding their urge, their meaning, and their dreams. I, and this River! Oftentimes it seems We must forget the willows at our edge, The arch of sky, and many a lyric ledge Whereon the gold of April sunlight gleams; Driven and weary, bridged for alien ways, Must be too bitter, with our glory gone, To feel the piercing sweetness of the dawn Or any loveliness of sunset-haze . . . @3Yet, whelmed by smudge and dye and rusty bars, In the still twilights we have mirrored stars!@1 |