Longfellow

He can behold

Things manifold

That have not yet been wholly told,-

Have not been wholly sung nor said.

For his thought, that never stops, 

Follows the water-drops

Down to the graves of the dead, 

Down through the chasms and gulfs profound,
 
To the dreary fountain-head

Of lakes and rivers under ground;

And sees them, when the rain is done, 

On the bridge of colors seven

Climbing up once more to heaven, 

Opposite the setting sun.

Thus the Seer, 

With vision clear, 

Sees forms appear and disappear,

In the perpetual round of strange, 

Mysterious change

From birth to death, from death to birth, 

From earth to heaven, from heaven to
earth;

Till glimpses more sublime

Of things unseen before,
 
Unto his wondering eyes reveal

The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel
​
Turning forevermore

In the rapid and the rushing river of Time.