A Stream’s Singing

O HOW beautiful is Morning! How the sunbeams strike the daisies, And the kingcups fill the meadow Like a golden-shielded army Marching to the uplands fair;-- I am going forth to battle, And life's uplands rise before me, And my golden shield is ready, And I pause a moment, timing My heart's pæan to the waters, As with cheerful song incessant Onwards runs the little stream; Singing ever, onward ever, Boldly runs the merry stream. O how glorious is Noon-day! With the cool large shadows lying Underneath the giant forest, The far hill-tops towering dimly O'er the conquered plains below;-- I am conquering--I shall conquer In life's battle-field impetuous: And I lie and listen dreamy To a double-voiced, low music,-- Tender beech-trees sheeny shiver Mingled with the diapason Of the strong, deep, joyful stream, Like a man's love and a woman's; So it runs--the happy stream! O how grandly cometh Even, Sitting on the mountain summit, Purple-vestured, grave, and silent, Watching o'er the dewy valleys, Like a good king near his end:-- I have labored, I have governed; Now I feel the gathering shadows Of the night that closes all things: And the fair earth fades before me, And the stars leap out in heaven, While into the infinite darkness Solemn runs the steadfast stream-- Onward, onward, ceaseless, fearless, Singing runs the eternal stream.