NEAR the slim bridge at Minnehaha Falls,
Below the impetuous current’s
I followed down a path
that ran before
And led me into Summer’s sylvan halls.
Full-boughed and mossy were the mist-clad walls,
While in diminished cadence came the pour,
Attenuated ever more
Until it seemed the least of elfin calls.
is it with the turbulent stream of life:
In youth it storms the
soul; grows less and less
As down the middle years our footsteps wend.
We lose at first the tumult and the strife,
Then find with the departing
urge and stress
Pure melody before the silent end. [Page