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.     Blithe and merry and sweet         Over its shallows singing,--     I hear before I awaken         The Bound of the church-bells ringing,     And the sound of the leaves wind-shaken,         Complaining and sun-forsaken,     And the oriole warbling and singing,         And the swish of the wind in the wheat     Sweet and tender and true!         From meadows of blossoming clover,     Where sleepy-eyed cows are lowing,         And bobolinks twittering over,--     Ebbing and falling and flowing--         Singing and gliding and going--     The river--my silver-shod lover,         Down to the infinite blue.     Deep, and tender, and strong!         With resonant voice and hole--     To far away sunshiny places,         Haunts of the bee and the swallow,     Where the Sabbath is sweet with the praises         Of dumb things, of weeds and of daisies,--     Oh river! I hear thee--I follow         To the ocean where I too belong.