Page:Oregon, her history, her great men, her literature.djvu/345

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From the Cascades' frozen gorges,

Leaping like a child at play,

Winding, widening through the valley,

Bright Willamette glides away;

Onward ever,

Lovely river,

Softly calling to the sea,

Time, that scars us,

Maims and mars us,

Leaves no track or trench on thee.

Spring's green witchery is weaving

Braid and border for thy side;

Grace forever haunts thy journey,

Beauty dimples on thy tide;

Through the purple gates of morning

Now thy roseate ripples dance,

Golden then, when day, departing,

On thy waters trails his lance.

Waltzing, flashing,

Tinkling, splashing,

Limpid, volatile, and free—

Always hurried

To be buried

In the bitter, moon-mad sea.

In thy crystal deeps inverted

Swings a picture of the sky,

Like those wavering hopes of Aidenn,

Dimly in our dreams that lie;

Clouded often, drowned in turmoil,

Faint and lovely, far away—

Wreathing sunshine on the morrow

Breathing fragrance round today.

Love would wander

Here and ponder,

Hither poetry would dream;

Life's old questions,

Sad suggestions,

Whence and whither? throng thy stream.