WATCHING THE RIVER

I WATCH by the river as, long ago,
  I watched by the waters of Mendon Mere.
And what do I see, and what do I hear,
As the river goes by in endless flow?

A fishhawk, watching the glassy pools;
A mountain, abutting upon the stream.
An eagle, sailing with angry scream,
And trout, and minnows, in swarming schools.

A rugged vista of mountain spurs
That crowd the river to left or right,
Rough, granite boulders that crown the height,
And a dark green ocean of pines and firs.

And now as of old the woods are ripe
With mystic murmur of sylvan bounds;
For over the hill are eager hounds,
And a red deer running to win his life.