Isaiah Beethoven

They told me I had three months to live,         So I crept to Bernadotte,         And sat by the mill for hours and hours         Where the gathered waters deeply moving         Seemed not to move:         O world, that's you!         You are but a widened place in the river         Where Life looks down and we rejoice for her         Mirrored in us, and so we dream And turn away, but when again         We look for the face, behold the low-lands         And blasted cotton-wood trees where we empty         Into the larger stream!         But here by the mill the castled clouds         Mocked themselves in the dizzy water;         And over its agate floor at night         The flame of the moon ran under my eyes         Amid a forest stillness broken         By a flute in a hut on the hill.         At last when I came to lie in bed         Weak and in pain, with the dreams about me,         The soul of the river had entered my soul,         And the gathered power of my soul was moving         So swiftly it seemed to be at rest         Under cities of cloud and under         Spheres of silver and changing worlds -         Until I saw a flash of trumpets         Above the battlements over Time.