Swift And Silent And Strong Under The Low-Browed Arches, Through Culverts, And Under Bridges, Sweeping With Long Forced Marches Down To The Ultimate Ridges,-- The Sand, And The Reeds, And The Midges, And The Down-Dropping Tassels Of Larches, That Border The Ocean Of Song. Swift And Silent And Deep Through The Noisome And Smoke-Grimed City, Turning The Wheels And The Spindles, And The Great Looms That Have No Pity,-- Weight, And Pulley, And Windlass, And Steel That Flashes And Kindles, And Hears No Forest-Learnt Ditty, Not Even In Dreams And Sleep. Blithe And Merry And Sweet Over Its Shallows Singing,-- I Hear Before I Awaken The Bound Of The Church-Bells Ringing, And The Sound Of The Leaves Wind-Shaken, Complaining And Sun-Forsaken, And The Oriole Warbling And Singing, And The Swish Of The Wind In The Wheat Sweet And Tender And True! From Meadows Of Blossoming Clover, Where Sleepy-Eyed Cows Are Lowing, And Bobolinks Twittering Over,-- Ebbing And Falling And Flowing-- Singing And Gliding And Going-- The River--My Silver-Shod Lover, Down To The Infinite Blue. Deep, And Tender, And Strong! With Resonant Voice And Hole-- To Far Away Sunshiny Places, Haunts Of The Bee And The Swallow, Where The Sabbath Is Sweet With The Praises Of Dumb Things, Of Weeds And Of Daisies,-- Oh River! I Hear Thee--I Follow To The Ocean Where I Too Belong.