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THE NIGHT JOURNEY OF A RIVER.
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 On glide thy waters, till at last they flowBeneath the windows of the populous town,And all night long give back the gleam of lamps,And glimmer with the trains of light that streamFrom halls where dancers whirl. A dimmer rayTouches thy surface from the silent roomIn which they tend the sick, or gather roundThe dying; and a slender, steady beamComes from the little chamber, in the roofWhere, with a feverous crimson on her check,The solitary damsel, dying, too,Plies the quick needle till the stars grow pale.There, close beside the haunts of revel, standThe blank, unlighted windows, where the poor,In hunger and in darkness, wake till morn.There, drowsily, on the half conscious earOf the dull watchman, pacing on the wharf,Falls the soft ripple of the waves that strikeOn the moored bark; but guiltier listeners
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