Only now a cloud or two
Drifts in ragged disarray
Over the deep darkened blue;
And the risen golden moon
Shakes the shadows of the trees
Round the river's stillnesses
And the birdsong of the June.
Under me the current glides,
Brown and deep and dimly lit,
Soundless save against the sides
Of the arch that narrows it;
And the only sound that grieves
Is a noise that never stops,
Footsteps of the falling drops
Down the ladders of the leaves.
- On the Bridge by Arthur Reed Ropes
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