Which make that current gaily beautiful.
And so it rolls, in its magnificence
Tumbling and sparkling up into the sun
Like an eternal thing: buoyant and bright
Beneath the airs of Heaven that murmur mirth
And hope, and life, and pauseless interest.
While on its living course no spot is seen
That is not far too bright and glorious
For the approach of grim decay, or that
More mighty and more terrible shadow Death