Preludes, 4

As looking on a river that progresses
Through some loud, populous city, till it gains
The acrid sea, — thought tracks it through the plains
O'er which it flowed, to innermost recesses
Of hills the earliest light of morn caresses.
Where, nursed by Nature, fed by fragrant rains.
Sung to by birds, swayed by all varying strains
Of winds the very soul of spring possesses.

It sprang a slender stream, which, gath'ring force.
Grew to a river hurrying to the sea;
So, on this current of my song look ye.
Think not upon its dark unalterable course,
Nor of drowned hopes that in its eddies be;
But dream ye know and wander near its source.