Spite of its troubled waters’ windy strife—
Heaven in its breast—and, as it sped along,
Bearing its loyal service to the sea,
Praising the stones that gave it voice to sing,
With constant sweetness, whose soft murmuring,
Unwearying ever in its melody,
Was hidden in life’s song that filled the day
With chords confused of labor manifold.
Only with evening’s peaceful skies of gold
Came the lost music of the river’s lay—