“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. 
 

“The Still Willamette River” as it appears in Higginson’s The Voice of April-Land and Other Poems (1903).