Classic Poem

From their tabernacled caverns
Priestly cataracts intone,
In the highlands, in the winds,
As they flow;
And the waters of the level
Have a litany their own,
Which the crystal-vested crags
Never know.

Though remembered be the music
Of the sanctuary far,
In the peaceful river's voice,
Musefully,
Now it holds a richer meaning
As the waters hold the star,
Or my heart, so calm at last,