Majestically, from the pearl-faced gate
Of eastern skies, the mighty stream doth pour
A crimpling current through the golden door
Of western bounds; nor doth our boat abate
Aught of its strife with tides, and night doth wait
Ambushed in shadows yonder crag throws o’er.
And foam-capped waves, which lap the willowed shore,
Are chasing us like hungry hounds of Fate.
What name hast thou, O, Spirit brooding here?
Elusive thou, as creatures of a dream,
Or phantoms of the mist, gone with a breath.
We know not if we must adore or fear
This mystery that holds the land and stream—
And yonder shades; bescreen they Life or death?