Brathay Bridge

Month after month more languid do I grow,
Struggling and striving in life's sterile round,
And in each strife and struggle losing ground,
Letting the anchors of my spirit go.
The morning long upon this sunny stone,
Solaced and calmed by Brathay's flooded noise,
For my late weakness I would fain atone,
By putting from me life's unhopeful joys.
But each wise vow and self-renouncing speech
For their untruth the river, as it goes,
Bears down; and, ever as the water flows,
My better self flows past me out of reach;
And the sweet sounds, in my soothed ears so long,
Steal my soul's strength, debasing it to song.