“With Thee Conversing …”


Talking with you each day would seem
To pass unnoticed into night,
And, borne on that enchanted stream,
Time but its pulse of dark and light;

And even busied or apart,
I feel the current’s restless sweep:
A conversation fills the heart,
Or voices answer in my sleep.

Nor does it move by words alone:
Beneath our smiles, our talk, beneath
All words, a colloquy goes on
Which runs as strong and still as death.

Where did it rise, that mighty flow
On which, chance travellers, we embark?
What cordilleras feed with snow
Its cataracts raging through the dark,

I cannot guess, nor yet foresee
What hour the flood, as we descend,
Will turn and sweep us to the sea
In which all rivers have their end.

Talking with you, I cease to care
Where the springs rise and where they flow;
The goal of all my search is here
And here my everlasting Now.

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