Other formats

    Adobe Portable Document Format file (facsimile images)   TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

SMAD. An Organ of Student Opinion. 1937. Volume 8. Number 7.

The Stream

The Stream.

I watch cool evening ceil the filmy skies;
The twilight shadows deepen; and the West,
Aglow with living flame, is slowly fading.
And in the breathless hush, the sobbing stream
Swells past me and the quivering air is still.
A deep, smooth bed of moss, as soft as sleep,
Affords me rest; my soul is strangely stirred.
Perhaps some aged Maori warrior
Stood here, and wondered if he saw his God . . .
For I have loved, as mother loves her child,
The crystal beauty of the lucent stream;
The whispering ripples, and the seething swirls;
The murmuring of myriad waterfalls;
The great, warm pools where lazy trout lie hid
Their darting shadows melting in the depths;
The shimmering shallows and the laughing spray;
The fringing willows, weeping in the water.
The quiet stream's elusive melody
Is sweet as children's laughter in the morning.
Now, wafted by the dying breeze, is borne
The heavy scent of soft, slim-throated freezias . . .
And soon the moon's rich radiance will fall
As gently as the petals of a rose;
The stream will glitter, as the evening stars
Shed their dim loveliness upon the Earth . . .
The—world is beautiful; and youth is strong
To love its beauties—youth is powerful, strange—
And, as the ages roll away, the stream
Perhaps may change, but I will hear, enrapt
The scintillating music of my youth
Till all eternity shall fade and die!
My youth will live! I feel my swift warm blood
Like liquid fire rush through my throbbing veins!
The stream has changed to molten silver now
And gathering twilight steals across the skies.

—R. L. M.