And I wonder they do not break its shining mirror.
The boatman glanced along its darkening side,
From the pale water paler with the night,
And in his face I saw a sturdy pride,
An understanding of its strength and height,
Its silences, its storms, its lonely ways:
He who had lived beside it all his days.
He pulled upon his oar and naught he said;
But in his eyes were hills inherited.
* * *