BRIDGES. 193
From the chance-levelled bough
In the shadowy wood, To the wonderful span
O er the down-rushing flood ; But for ever a pathos
And beauty enshrine Every bar with its shadow
Across the wave s shine. All tell the same tale,
From the wind-fallen larch Where the squirrels go free,
To the ponderous arch ; For there s always in life
Rapid streams to divide, And the cowslips will grow
On the opposite side; So a bridge is a type
Of our longings confessed, Out of Life s discontent
Reaching still for our rest.
We build them of silver,
With railings of gold, But the wind of adversity
Loosens their hold. We build them of Love,
And the cable untwists That was bound round a promise,
And tied with a kiss. We build them of Honor ;
Lo ! Slander s foul breath 17 N
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