[River.I.][28th July 1971]

[Redbook1:211A-B][19710728][River.I.][28th July 1971]

28.7.71.

River.  I.

                                                Bubbling in spring,

                                                My strength from the hills,

                                                Collected in rills,

                                                Dithers through runnels,

                                                Running in tunnels

                                                Of grass; through the fields

                                                I grow.

                                                Through fields of grass

                                                More slowly I pass;

                                                In Summer's fair land

                                                I wear the green strand;

                                                I bear many boats,

                                                Or anything floats;

                                                And things that sink

                                                And long drink,

                                                More slowly pass,

                                                (My flood restrained)

                                                I gnaw.

                                                My banks chained

                                                By Man’s shore:

                                                Where country wanes,

                                                And town gains,

                                                Where Autumn rains,

                                                I pour.

                                                No more I sing;

                                                Man wields

                                                From noisome conduits

                                                All power.

                                                All power:

                                                Grey skies shine my sullen flow;

                                                Rain on the hard lands; Grey, I grow.

                                                Tall stacks dark clouds pour;

                                                I feel red furnace roar.

                                                Now I breathe, and breathe not; Gulls call;

                                                I drift the wreck of years:

                                                All life ends in bitter tears,

                                                And ashes fall.

                                                In the Sea-Wind,

                                                To Oceans wide

                                                My slow roll

                                                Goes....

[continues]

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