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The cataract whirling down the precipice, Elbows down rocks and, shouldering, thunders through. Roars, howls, and stifled murmurs never cease; Hell and its agonies seem hid below. Thick rolls the mist, that smokes and falls in dew; The trees and greenwood wear the deepest green. Horrible mysteries in the gulph stare through, Roars of a million tongues, and none knows what they mean.
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on August 18, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on August 18, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.
