When You and I behind the Veil are past, Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last, Which of our Coming and Departure heeds As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.

River, River, little River, Bright you sparkle on your way, O'er the yellow pebbles dancing, Through the flowers and foliage glancing, Like a child at play.

I seek the coolest sheltered seat Just where the field and forest meet, Where grow the pine-trees tall and bland, The ancient oaks austere and grand, And fringy roots and pebbles fret The ripples of the rivulet.

Then sped the singing pebble-messenger, The chosen of the Lord from Israel's brooks, Fleet to its mark, and hollowed a light path Down to the appalling Babel of his brain.

Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 200 Nor pastimes of the May; They all were with her in her cell; And a clear brook with cheerful knell Did o'er the pebbles play.