F LOWETH the river still and strong;
Flitteth the bird swift-winged along
Its crested wave with joyous song.

The bird is a creature of air and light;
Skyward she taketh her circling flight,
Leaving the broad stream out of sight.

What though the mighty river frets
With broken voice ? Of long regrets
Light hearts know little. The bird forgets.

Weary at last of all things fair;
Weary of soaring everywhere;
Weary of heaven, and earth, and air;

Discontent in the song she sings —
Cometh the bird from her wanderings
Back to the river to dip her wings.
. . . . . . .

Stealeth the noon-hush far and wide;
Smileth the sun on the river's tide;
Dreameth the bird in the shade beside.
. . . . . . .

My love is the river still and strong;
Thy heart is the bird that flits along
Wave and ripple, with joyous song.