The Stream’s Song

Crumble, crumble,

Voiceless things;

No faith can last

That never sings.

For the last hour

To joy belongs:

The steadfast perish,

But not the songs.

Yet for a while

Thwart me, O boulders;

I need for laugher

Your serious shoulders.

And when my singing

Has razed your quite,

I shall have lost

Half my delight.