C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Annie Adams Fields (1834–1915)
The River Charles
B
Through vista long of years, and drink my fill
Of beauty and of light, a steady rill
Of never-failing good, whate’er my state,—
Never to say, nor half to say, how dear
The washing of thy ripples, nor the full
And silent flow which speaks not to the ear!
Telling me many a tale in listening hours
Of those who praised thee with their ripening powers,—
Our elder poets, nourished at thy source.
Forever the proud memories of their lives;
O happy Cambridge air! forever blest
With deathless song the bee of time still hives;—
Through a fair Sunday up and down thy banks,
Beautiful with thy blossoms, ranks on ranks,
What vanished eyes have sought thy dewy rooms!
Or sleeping idly, even as thou dost now,
Reflecting every wall and tower and dome,
And every vessel, clear from stern to prow,
And the great city is still, and only thou
Givest me sign of life, and on thy brow
A beauty evanescent, flitting, frail!
How common is thy fate! thus purposeless
To drift away, nor think what ’tis to be,
And sink in the vast wave of nothingness.
Is given, and his narrow river of days
Shall flow through other lives, and sleep in bays
Of quiet thought and calm the heart at strife.
Hast run and washed life’s burden from his sight;
O happy river! thou his song hast brought,
And thou shalt live in poetry and light.