To you the stars and the angels,
And the heavens themselves are near,
And the amaranths of paradise,
That blossom all the year:
I would I could see what ye see,
And hear what ye can hear.




RIVER SONG


Swift and silent and strong
Under the low-browed arches,
Through culverts, and under bridges,
Sweeping with long forced marches
Down to the ultimate ridges,--
The sand, and the reeds, and the midges,
And the down-dropping tassels of larches,
That border the ocean of song.

Swift and silent and deep
Through the noisome and smoke-grimed city,
Turning the wheels and the spindles,
And the great looms that have no pity,--
Weight, and pulley, and windlass,
And steel that flashes and kindles,
And hears no forest-learnt ditty,
Not even in dreams and sleep.