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The river of dreams runs murmuring down,
Through the fairest garden that ever grew;
The river's whisper, and charms my ear
A virginal chant from the lilies' throng,
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
strange : This is a city haunted, A multitude enchanted ! At the sight of the throng I am dumb with
For never a sound from their lips I hear, As the river of dreams runs down.
The river of dreams runs wildly down
Into the heart of a desolate land,
By ruined temples half-buried in sand, Thro' a cleft of the hills, whose black brows
And a weary wind that cannot rest
I strive to cry out, but my fluttering breath
Is choked with the clinging fog of death, While the river of dreams runs down.
The river of dreams runs swiftly down,
Out of the valley of nameless fear,
Into a country calm and clear,
A name that I know, but may not tell, –
And hail my boat with the voice of yore.
And I feel in my heart with a secret thrill,
That the loved and lost are living still, While the river of dreams runs down.
The river of dreams runs silently down
By a secret way that no man knows;
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
Are left behind with the vanished years.
And we follow the tide, awake or asleep,