Classic Poem

A thousand streams all gather into one
And in thy thunders sink;
Four mighty seas to thy dread margin run
And dare thine awful brink.

The shock of cavalry in battle sweep,
The might of war's impact,
Are whispers to the thunder o'er the steep
Of thy great cataract.

While yet there was no ear to hear thy moan
And all the earth was young,
Out on the lonely air thy monotone
Its deep vibrations flung.

The sun was painting rainbows on the mist
That veiled thy watery crown
When fierce Cambyses staggered all the east
And trampled Egypt down.

Still boomed thy flood in ceaseless cannonade
And seethed in yeasty foam
When Goth and Vandal in destruction laid
The towers of ancient Rome.

Thy torrent breaks the adamantine rock
And hurls it from the height;
The firm-knit earth cannot withstand the shock
Of thy propulsive might.

How wild the storm that ever downward sweeps
The whirlwind of thy foam;
How still the sky that all thy waters weeps
In raindrops from its dome.

Sublime but silent is that mighty force
That dwells within those forms
Whose wings of mist soar upward in their course
And veil thy breast in storms.