Charles Heavysege

The Stream

'Twas Sabbath morn. I lay 'neath pensive spell,
And saw, in reverie or waking dream,
My life elapse, in likeness of a stream
That in a slant and steady torrent fell,
As if it gushed beneath the force supreme
Of some high reservoir or lofty well.
E'en such a stream I saw as, from a bank
Verdant with mosses and perpetual dank,
I have observed leap forth when heavy rains
Have, through the uplands filtered, fed earth's veins
To bursting. This I saw with troubled eye,
Anticipating when the stream no more
In ceaseless, crystalline cascade should pour,
But sudden stop, or slowly dribble dry.

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