The Seeking Of The Waterfall

They left their home of summer ease     Beneath the lowlands sheltering trees,     To seek, by ways unknown to all,     The promise of the waterfall.     Some vague, faint rumor to the vale     Had crept, perchance a hunters tale,     Of its wild mirth of waters lost     On the dark woods through which it tossed.     Somewhere it laughed and sang; somewhere     Whirled in mad dance its misty hair;     But who had raised its veil, or seen     The rainbow skirts of that Undine?     They sought it where the mountain brook     Its swift way to the valley took;     Along the rugged slope they clomb,     Their guide a thread of sound and foam.     Height after height they slowly won;     The fiery javelins of the sun     Smote the bare ledge; the tangled shade     With rock and vine their steps delayed.     But, through leaf-openings, now and then     They saw the cheerful homes of men,     And the great mountains with their wall     Of misty purple girdling all.     The leaves through which the glad winds blew     Shared the wild dance the waters knew;     And where the shadows deepest fell     The wood-thrush rang his silver bell.     Fringing the stream, at every turn     Swung low the waving fronds of fern;     From stony cleft and mossy sod     Pale asters sprang, and golden-rod.     And still the water sang the sweet,     Glad song that stirred its gliding feet,     And found in rock and root the keys     Of its beguiling melodies.     Beyond, above, its signals flew     Of tossing foam the birch-trees through;     Now seen, now lost, but baffling still     The weary seekers slackening will.     Each called to each: Lo here! Lo there!     Its white scarf flutters in the air!     They climbed anew; the vision fled,     To beckon higher overhead.     So toiled they up the mountain-slope     With faint and ever fainter hope;     With faint and fainter voice the brook     Still bade them listen, pause, and look.     Meanwhile below the day was done;     Above the tall peaks saw the sun     Sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set     Behind the hills of violet.     Here ends our quest! the seekers cried,     The brook and rumor both have lied!     The phantom of a waterfall     Has led us at its beck and call.     But one, with years grown wiser, said     So, always baffled, not misled,     We follow where before us runs     The vision of the shining ones.     Not where they seem their signals fly,     Their voices while we listen die;     We cannot keep, however fleet,     The quick time of their winged feet.     From youth to age unresting stray     These kindly mockers in our way;     Yet lead they not, the baffling elves,     To something better than themselves?     Here, though unreached the goal we sought,     Its own reward our toil has brought:     The winding waters sounding rush,     The long note of the hermit thrush,     The turquoise lakes, the glimpse of pond     And river track, and, vast, beyond     Broad meadows belted round with pines,     The grand uplift of mountain lines!     What matter though we seek with pain     The garden of the gods in vain,     If lured thereby we climb to greet     Some wayside blossom Eden-sweet?     To seek is better than to gain,     The fond hope dies as we attain;     Lifes fairest things are those which seem,     The best is that of which we dream.     Then let us trust our waterfall     Still flashes down its rocky wall,     With rainbow crescent curved across     Its sunlit spray from moss to moss.     And we, forgetful of our pain,     In thought shall seek it oft again;     Shall see this aster-blossomed sod,     This sunshine of the golden-rod,     And haply gain, through parting boughs,     Grand glimpses of great mountain brows     Cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen     Of lakes deep set in valleys green.     So failure wins; the consequence     Of loss becomes its recompense;     And evermore the end shall tell     The unreached ideal guided well.     Our sweet illusions only die     Fulfilling loves sure prophecy;     And every wish for better things     An undreamed beauty nearer brings.     For fate is servitor of love;     Desire and hope and longing prove     The secret of immortal youth,     And Nature cheats us into truth.     O kind allurers, wisely sent,     Beguiling with benign intent,     Still move us, through divine unrest,     To seek the loveliest and the best!     Go with us when our souls go free,     And, in the clear, white light to be,     Add unto Heavens beatitude     The old delight of seeking good!