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The river of dreams runs murmuring down, Through the fairest garden that ever grew; And I catch, as my boat goes drifting
A mingled music that seems to drown
A wild-rose ballad, a lilac-song,
Blue-bells silverly ringing,
Pansies merrily singing, —
For all the flowers have found their voice ; And I feel no wonder, but only rejoice, While the river of dreams runs down.
The river of dreams runs broadening down, Away from the peaceful garden-shore, With a current that deepens more and more,
By the league-long walls of a mighty town.
I see the hurrying crowds of men
Dissolve like clouds and gather again,
But never a face I have seen before ;
For they come and go, and they shift and change,
And even the forms and the dresses are strange :
This is a city haunted,
A multitude enchanted !
At the sight of the throng I am dumb with
As the river of dreams runs down.
The river of dreams runs wildly down
The river of dreams runs swiftly down,
The river of dreams runs silently down
flows Through the gardens bright, or the forests brown; And I think sometimes that our whole life seems
To be more than half made up of dreams. For its changing sights, and its passing shows, And its morning hopes, and its midnight fears, Are left behind with the vanished years. Onward, with ceaseless motion, The life-stream flows to the ocean, — And we follow the tide, awake or asleep, Till we see the dawn on Love’s great deep, When the bar at the harbour-mouth is crossed, And the river of dreams in the sea is lost.