The Still Willamette River
Ah, would that we might hear again
The balm leaves faintly shiver,
As on that night we drifted down
The still Willamette River!
The lilies rocked upon the waves,
The fragrant trees leaned over,
The happy winds blew sweet, blew low,
Along the banks of clover.
The river moved as if asleep,
The stars slipped down and sparkled
About us, while our idle oars
Scarce touched the waves that darkled;
The fireflies upon the bank
Set all their lamps a-glowing,
And when we passed a dogwood tree,
Its pale soft blooms were snowing.
Those scented flakes of summer snow
Fell to the cool dark water,
The while a thrush sang clear and low
Love notes her mate had taught her;
In far-off marshy fields we heard
The crickets shrilly fluting,
And on the narrow bending reeds
The low-lipped waters luting.
Ah, then, we almost heard the sea,
We felt its restless beating,
And oh, your tender eyes grew sad
With every moment fleeting;
Into the sky we saw one flush
Of crimson dawnlight quiver,
The last star fell to fade and die
In the Willamette River.
Ah, would that we might hear again
The balm leaves faintly shiver,
Where, glimmering, darkling, to the sea,
The waves flow on forever;
And would that we might drift to-night
Where bright stars fall and quiver,
And folded lilies lie asleep
On the Willamette River.
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