Soon we had fashioned a rude boat, <br />and with lanterns affixed to the prow <br />were ferrying tours across the smoky waters: <br />Styx, Lethe, Echo River, the host <br />of wonders I had found. By slapping <br />the water with the flat of my paddle, <br />there comes a sound like the ringing of bells, <br />a mournful, hollow melody--waves lap- <br />ping and beating under the low stone arches. <br />The voice, too, will reproduce in myriad; <br />often I have led a tour in song, shouts raised <br />or pistols fired on the dark, deep water. <br />Children of a clanging, squeaking world, <br />we cannot bear the silence.<br /><br />Davis McCombs<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/echo-river/
