XVII
THE RIVER
He watched the river running black
Beneath the blacker sky;
It did not pause upon its track
Of silent instancy;
It did not hasten, nor was slack,
But still went gliding by.
It was so black. There was no wind
Its patience to defy.
It was not that the man had sinned,
Or that he wished to die.
Only the wide and silent tide
Went slowly sweeping by.
The mass of blackness moving down
Filled full of dreams the eye;
The lights of all the lighted town
Upon its breast did lie;
The tall black trees were upside down
In the river phantasy.
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