How sweet ‘t would be, when all the air,
In moonlight swims along the river,
To couch upon the grass and hear
Niagara’s everlasting voice
Far in the deep blue West away;
That dreamy and poetic noise
We mark not in the glare of day —
Oh, how unlike its torrent-cry
When o’er the brink the tide is driven,
As if the vast and sheeted sky
In thunder fell from Heaven!
Source: Myron T. Prichard, comp. Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrup Publishing Co., 1901
Originally published as part Fragment in Drake’s The Culprit Fay, and Other Poems, New York: George Dearborn, 1836
See Drake’s other poem on this site, Niagara
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