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I sat me down upon a green bank side,
Skirting the smooth edge of a gentle river,
Whose waters seemed unwillingly to glide,
Like parting friends, who linger while they sever;
Enforced to go, yet seeming still unready,
Backward they wind their way in many a wistful eddy.
And I did leave thy loveliness to stand
Again in the dull world of earthly blindness,
Pain'd with the pressure of unfriendly hands,
Sick of smooth looks, agued with icy kindness;
Left I for this thy shades, where none intrude,
To prison wandering thought and mar sweet solitude.
Yet I will look upon thy face again,
My own romantic Bronx, and it will be
A face more pleasant than the face of men.
Thy waves are old companions; I shall see
A well-remembered form in each old tree,
And hear a voice long loved in thy wild minstrelsy.
Joseph Rodman Drake.