The stream that wore this little valley down Had patience of the unintelligent. It had no care of time. The living things That came on cautious feet, thirst-driven, intent On water and a waiting enemy, Blurred foot-prints of wild things that came before, And still the water ate into the shore. Death and decay and little running feet, And gray flat-headed snakes, swift, slippery, still In the cool water-cress, and iris sweet Shining through water like a drowned girl's eyes; And water, water, wearing down the hill. It's men who count, saying @3one, two, three, four;@1 It's beasts that fear, looking from left to right. Iris and cardinal-flower are now no more, Frost withered the wild rice, and wild ducks take their flight. The water-rat is dead with his teeth showing, Set like a vice -- but the stream doesn't care. The stream has centuries beyond our knowing To wear and wear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CAT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES A VALENTINE by LAURA ELIZABETH HOWE RICHARDS THE LAST MAN: SUBTERRANEAN CITY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE WATCHERS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN MARCELIA; A TRAGICOMEDY. SONG by FRANCES BOOTHBY |