And the waves break the same,
I’ve died a thousand times before
And before the river runs,
Die a million more.

And just as those shake-shiver plains-
April left wet with worry again,
It finds us longing for the westerly breath
Breaking on the Mississippian main.

Though if I a sail, to steady and guide my bass,
And weather forever in my favor,
In any direction i could cast
For want of better endeavor.

Then I would float a fleeting water:
A losing stream, to only reappear,
And there on moss strung wood hang my worries
And I myself disappear.

There fountains I’d lay
With idol dolomite rubble,
And work the clay with sand
But accrue not any trouble.

And in peace together,
Me and my natural mistress
Could toil until the workings done,
In privacy from a witness.

There in the crescent fountains
Lit lowly by the lanterns of the night,
Dark shades of green, the watercress,
Frigid cold but waiting springs delight.

There I could make a home
Far from the anxious gray
And in the stream lie
And gently float away.

And in the world be welcomed
And be welcoming to the world
And have not thin Nations fluttering
But only ****** Petals unfurled