The river flows at full to-day;
And though within the tide it pours
There grow no mocking sycamores,
Nor any crystal hints betray
The spicewood thickets, nor the pale
Soft willow wands of pearly gray,
Whose interwoven mazes veil
The fretted banks, yet here and there,
Adown some swirling eddy, where
A delving sunbeam shines,