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, drifting down the River, Tawny current and foam-flecked tide, Sorrowful songs of lonely boatmen, Mournful forests on either side.

Thine are the outcrops' glittering blocks, The quartz where the rich pyrites gleam, The golden treasure of unhewn rocks And the loose gold in the stream.

But,—the dim vast forests along the shore, That whisper wonderful things o' nights,— These are things that I value more, My beautiful "surface rights."

Drifting, drifting down the River,— Stars a-tremble about the sky— Ah, my lover, my heart is breaking, Breaking, breaking, I know not why.

Why is Love such a sorrowful thing? This I never could understand; Pain and passion are linked together, Ever I find them hand in hand.

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