“My right to love, and thine to know,
The life-stream, in its seaward flow,
Glides, chainless, ’neath the drifted snow.”
Wherever it listeth the free-born wind bloweth:
Wherever it willeth the stream of song floweth:
It revels in twin-light—its lone threads run single;
It passeth calm seas with wild Caspians to mingle.
If blest with true life-mate, in roughest of weather,
They join their glad voices and rush on together;
If lost in a lake whose fair surface is calmer,