107. Pebbles in the Stream

HERE on this little bridge in this warm day

We rest us from our idle sauntering walk.

Over our shadows its continuous talk

The stream maintains, while now and then a stray

Dry leaf may fall where the still waters play

In endless eddies, through whose clear brown deep

The gorgeous pebbles quiver in their sleep.

The stream still hastes but cannot pass away.

Could I but find the words that would reveal

The unity in multiplicity,

And the profound strange harmony I feel

With those dead things, God’s garments of to-day,

The listener’s soul with mine they would anneal,

And make us one within eternity.