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