A braver swell, a swifter sliding;
The river hasteth, her banks recede; Wing-like sails on her bosom gliding
Bear down the lily, and drown the reed.
Stately prows are rising and bowing—
(Shouts of mariners winnow the air)— And level sands for banks endowing
The tiny green ribbon that showed so fair.
While, O my heart! as white sails shiver,
And crowds are passing, and banks stretch wide, How hard to follow, with lips that quiver,
That moving speck on the far-off side!
Farther, farther—I see it—know it—
My eyes brim over, it melts away: Only my heart to my heart shall show it,
As I walk desolate day by day.
VIII.
And yet I know past all doubting, truly,—
A knowledge greater than grief can dim— I know, as he loved, he will love me duly—
Yea, better—e'en better than I love him:
And as I walk by the vast calm river,
The awful river so dread to see, I say, "Thy breadth and thy depth forever
Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me."
JEAN INGELOW.
TO DIANE DE POITIERS.