I sat there on the rock
Facing the young river,
Tears rolled down
My demure oculus;
The river showed no sympathy,
I was in solicit solitude,
But for the tinkling of tear-drops,
That shamelessly merged with flow,
The river evinces no expression,
For it knows naught the difference
Of tears wrought for joy
And that for lone sorrows!
The river has to move on –
And it moved as it used to,
When I was still young,
Today but, it boasts a polarity –
My blemishes it has carried away,
Gushing all my rues,
But I still sit there –
When my tears are shameless again…