This poem was included in the original 1915 edition.
THEY told me I had three months to live, So I crept to Bernadotte, And sat by the mill for hours and hours Where the gathered waters deeply moving Seemed not to move: O world, that's you! You are but a widened place in the river Where Life looks down and we rejoice for her Mirrored in us, and so we dream And turn away, but when again We look for the face, behold the low-lands And blasted cotton-wood trees where we empty Into the larger stream! But here by the mill the castled clouds Mocked themselves in the dizzy water; And over its agate floor at night The flame of the moon ran under my eyes Amid a forest stillness broken By a flute in a hut on the hill. At last when I came to lie in bed Weak and in pain, with the dreams about me, The soul of the river had entered my soul, And the gathered power of my soul was moving So swiftly it seemed to be at rest Under cities of cloud and under Spheres of silver and changing worlds-- Until I saw a flash of trumpets Above the battlements over Time.
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