French Creek
Climbing up along French Creek
Downrushing, changing, endless stream
How could I stop or cease to seek
What lay beyond what I had seen?
Each bend, each rise, each looming wall
Concealed a deeper mystery
That seized me ever more in thrall
Till stillness burned like agony.
My pole, my father, far behind,
Untouched by fear of injury,
Along the stream I higher climbed
On drop-offs, boulders, fallen trees,
And never once allowed a thought
To shake me from my pace or track:
Not knowing what it was I sought
I hurried on, not looking back.
But then, upon my soul's bright fire,
A vision flowed, unreal, sublime,
That doused to ash my blind desire
And seemed a thing untouched by time.
For there, astride my swooning gaze,
Upflying past the rocks and stream,
An eagle, huge, gold eyes ablaze,
Close-drifted by on silent wings.
And when the bird, soon far upstream,
At last was taken from my eye,
I woke, amazed, as from a dream,
Into a world now still as I.
The rushing stream to stillness fell,
And seemed a solid thing serene,
While rocks and trees, as if a spell
Had touched them, now eternal gleamed.
And when at last that vision fled,
When motion leaped and noises cried,
Back down French Creek I turned my head,
And walked in calmness by its side.