From which lofty white mount do you spring?
Through what misty vale do you flow?
Into which hidden pool do you pour?
Far I've roamed and still do not know.
To drink of your crystalline surface,
And wade your rocking waves,
To plunge into your murky depths,
Is all that I need, for my restless soul to save.
By the Light of the Morningstar, the gilded sun He sends,
Slowly I sail your cloudy banks,
Wary of destination, and mysterious, unknown ends.
Yet for such welcoming gestures, I extend my deepest thanks,
And my promise to brave the eddying bends.
Walking through the forest On a winter's end I hear, The chirping of a robin The rustlings of a deer.
And down by the river I see The life of spring in bloom A young bud unravelling Though it is surely doomed.
For down by the banks I find Thousands of autumnal leaves Shrivled and cold, once full of life Floating dead, drifting in finality Is the fate of us all And all that is to be.