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Like a shutter thrown by the hand of fate
Forward and back I go,
Bearing a thread to the desolate
To darken his web of woe,
A brighter thread to the glad of heart,
And a mingled one for all.
But the dark and light I cannot part,
Nor alter their hues at all.
Wooster, Ohio, 1849.
SOUVENIR.
You ask me, "Do you think of me?"
Dear, thoughts of thee are like this river,
Which pours itself into the sea,
Yet empties its own channel never.
All other thoughts are like these sail
Drifting the river's surface over;
They veer about with every gale—
The river keeps its course forever.
So deep and still, so strong and true,
The current of my soul sets thee-ward,
Thy river I, my ocean you,
And all myself am running seaward.
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