Broadway

I Between these frowning granite steeps The human river onward sweeps; And here it moves with torrent force, And there it slacks its heady course: But what controls its variant flow A keener wit than mine must show, Who cast myself upon the tide, And merging with its current glide- A drop, an atom, of the whole Of its great bulk and wandering soul. O curbless river, savage stream, Thou art my wilderness extreme, Where I may move as free, as lone, As in the waste with wood o'ergrown, And broodings of as brave a strain May here unchallenged entertain, Whether meridian light display The swift routine of current day, Or jet electric, diamond-clear, Convoke a world of glamour here. Yet when of solitude I tire, Speak comradeship to my desire, O most companionable tide, Where all to all are firm allied, And each hath countenance from the rest, Although the tie be unconfessed! II I muse upon this river's brink; I listen long; I strive to think What cry goes forth, of many blent, And by that cry what thing is meant- What simple legend of old fate Man's voice, here inarticulate, From out this dim and strange uproar Still heaves upon the skyey shore! Amid this swift, phantasmal stream Sometimes I move as in a dream; Then wondrous quiet, for a space, The clanging tumult will displace; And toil's hard gride and pleasure's hum No longer to my ear may come: A pantomimic, haunted throng Fareth in silence deep and strong, And seems in summoned haste to urge, Half prescient, towards a destined verge! The river flows- unwasting flows; Nor less nor more its volume grows, From source to sea still onward rolled, As days are shed and years are told; And yet, so mutable its wave, That no man twice therein may lave, But, ere he can return again, Himself shall subtle change sustain; Since more and more each life must be Tide-troubled by the drawing sea.