TO THE RIVER RHONE

Thou Royal River, born of sun and shower
  In chambers purple with the Alpine glow,
  Wrapped in the spotless ermine of the snow
  And rocked by tempests!—­at the appointed hour
Forth, like a steel-clad horseman from a tower,
  With clang and clink of harness dost thou go
  To meet thy vassal torrents, that below
  Rush to receive thee and obey thy power. 
And now thou movest in triumphal march,
  A king among the rivers!  On thy way
  A hundred towns await and welcome thee;
Bridges uplift for thee the stately arch,
  Vineyards encircle thee with garlands gay,
  And fleets attend thy progress to the sea!

THE THREE SILENCES OF MOLINOS

TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

Three Silences there are:  the first of speech,
  The second of desire, the third of thought;
  This is the lore a Spanish monk, distraught
  With dreams and visions, was the first to teach. 
These Silences, commingling each with each,
  Made up the perfect Silence, that he sought
  And prayed for, and wherein at times he caught
  Mysterious sounds from realms beyond our reach. 
O thou, whose daily life anticipates
  The life to come, and in whose thought and word
  The spiritual world preponderates. 
Hermit of Amesbury! thou too hast heard
  Voices and melodies from beyond the gates,
  And speakest only when thy soul is stirred!

THE TWO RIVERS

I

Slowly the hour-hand of the clock moves round;
  So slowly that no human eye hath power
  To see it move!  Slowly in shine or shower
  The painted ship above it, homeward bound,
Sails, but seems motionless, as if aground;
  Yet both arrive at last; and in his tower
   The slumberous watchman wakes and strikes the hour,
   A mellow, measured, melancholy sound. 
Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! 
  The frontier town and citadel of night! 
  The watershed of Time, from which the streams
Of Yesterday and To-morrow take their way,
  One to the land of promise and of light,
  One to the land of darkness and of dreams!

II

O River of Yesterday, with current swift
  Through chasms descending, and soon lost to sight,
  I do not care to follow in their flight
  The faded leaves, that on thy bosom drift! 
O River of To-morrow, I uplift
  Mine eyes, and thee I follow, as the night
  Wanes into morning, and the dawning light
  Broadens, and all the shadows fade and shift! 
I follow, follow, where thy waters run
  Through unfrequented, unfamiliar fields,
  Fragrant with flowers and musical with song;
Still follow, follow; sure to meet the sun,
  And confident, that what the future yields
  Will be the right, unless myself be wrong.