SHADOW RIVER
A STREAM of tender gladness,Of filmy sun, and opal-tinted skies;Of warm midsummer air that lightly liesIn mystic rings,Where softly swingsThe music of a thousand wingsThat almost tone to sadness.Midway 'twixt earth and heaven,A bubble in the pearly air, I seemTo float upon the sapphire floor, a dreamOf clouds of snow,Above, below,Drift with my drifting, dim and slow,As twilight drifts to even.The little fern-leaf, bendingUpon the brink, its green reflection greets,And kisses soft the shadow that it meetsWith touch so fine,The border lineThe keenest vision can't define;So perfect is the blending.The far fir trees that coverThe brownish hills with needles green and gold,The arching elms o'erhead, vinegrown and old,Repictured areBeneath me far,Where not a ripple moves to marShades underneath, or over.Mine is the undertone;The beauty, strength, and power of the landWill never stir or bend at my command;But all the shadeIs marred or made,If I but dip my paddle blade;And it is mine alone.O! pathless world of seeming!O! pathless life of mine whose deep idealIs more my own than ever was the real.For others FameAnd Love's red flame,And yellow gold: I only claimThe shadows and the dreaming.
A STREAM of tender gladness,Of filmy sun, and opal-tinted skies;Of warm midsummer air that lightly liesIn mystic rings,Where softly swingsThe music of a thousand wingsThat almost tone to sadness.Midway 'twixt earth and heaven,A bubble in the pearly air, I seemTo float upon the sapphire floor, a dreamOf clouds of snow,Above, below,Drift with my drifting, dim and slow,As twilight drifts to even.The little fern-leaf, bendingUpon the brink, its green reflection greets,And kisses soft the shadow that it meetsWith touch so fine,The border lineThe keenest vision can't define;So perfect is the blending.The far fir trees that coverThe brownish hills with needles green and gold,The arching elms o'erhead, vinegrown and old,Repictured areBeneath me far,Where not a ripple moves to marShades underneath, or over.Mine is the undertone;The beauty, strength, and power of the landWill never stir or bend at my command;But all the shadeIs marred or made,If I but dip my paddle blade;And it is mine alone.O! pathless world of seeming!O! pathless life of mine whose deep idealIs more my own than ever was the real.For others FameAnd Love's red flame,And yellow gold: I only claimThe shadows and the dreaming.
A STREAM of tender gladness,Of filmy sun, and opal-tinted skies;Of warm midsummer air that lightly liesIn mystic rings,Where softly swingsThe music of a thousand wingsThat almost tone to sadness.
A STREAM of tender gladness,
Of filmy sun, and opal-tinted skies;
Of warm midsummer air that lightly lies
In mystic rings,
Where softly swings
The music of a thousand wings
That almost tone to sadness.
Midway 'twixt earth and heaven,A bubble in the pearly air, I seemTo float upon the sapphire floor, a dreamOf clouds of snow,Above, below,Drift with my drifting, dim and slow,As twilight drifts to even.
Midway 'twixt earth and heaven,
A bubble in the pearly air, I seem
To float upon the sapphire floor, a dream
Of clouds of snow,
Above, below,
Drift with my drifting, dim and slow,
As twilight drifts to even.
The little fern-leaf, bendingUpon the brink, its green reflection greets,And kisses soft the shadow that it meetsWith touch so fine,The border lineThe keenest vision can't define;So perfect is the blending.
The little fern-leaf, bending
Upon the brink, its green reflection greets,
And kisses soft the shadow that it meets
With touch so fine,
The border line
The keenest vision can't define;
So perfect is the blending.
The far fir trees that coverThe brownish hills with needles green and gold,The arching elms o'erhead, vinegrown and old,Repictured areBeneath me far,Where not a ripple moves to marShades underneath, or over.
The far fir trees that cover
The brownish hills with needles green and gold,
The arching elms o'erhead, vinegrown and old,
Repictured are
Beneath me far,
Where not a ripple moves to mar
Shades underneath, or over.
Mine is the undertone;The beauty, strength, and power of the landWill never stir or bend at my command;But all the shadeIs marred or made,If I but dip my paddle blade;And it is mine alone.
Mine is the undertone;
The beauty, strength, and power of the land
Will never stir or bend at my command;
But all the shade
Is marred or made,
If I but dip my paddle blade;
And it is mine alone.
O! pathless world of seeming!O! pathless life of mine whose deep idealIs more my own than ever was the real.For others FameAnd Love's red flame,And yellow gold: I only claimThe shadows and the dreaming.
O! pathless world of seeming!
O! pathless life of mine whose deep ideal
Is more my own than ever was the real.
For others Fame
And Love's red flame,
And yellow gold: I only claim
The shadows and the dreaming.