The Bridge

I stood on the bridge at midnight,         As the clocks were striking the hour,     And the moon rose o'er the city,         Behind the dark church-tower.     I saw her bright reflection         In the waters under me,     Like a golden goblet falling         And sinking into the sea.     And far in the hazy distance         Of that lovely night in June,     The blaze of the flaming furnace         Gleamed redder than the moon.     Among the long, black rafters         The wavering shadows lay,     And the current that came from the ocean         Seemed to lift and bear them away;     As, sweeping and eddying through them,     Rose the belated tide,     And, streaming into the moonlight,         The seaweed floated wide.     And like those waters rushing         Among the wooden piers,     A flood of thoughts came o'er me         That filled my eyes with tears.     How often, oh, how often,         In the days that had gone by,     I had stood on that bridge at midnight         And gazed on that wave and sky!     How often, oh, how often,         I had wished that the ebbing tide     Would bear me away on its bosom         O'er the ocean wild and wide!     For my heart was hot and restless,         And my life was full of care,     And the burden laid upon me         Seemed greater than I could bear.     But now it has fallen from me,         It is buried in the sea;     And only the sorrow of others         Throws its shadow over me.     Yet whenever I cross the river         On its bridge with wooden piers,     Like the odor of brine from the ocean         Comes the thought of other years.     And I think how many thousands         Of care-encumbered men,     Each bearing his burden of sorrow,         Have crossed the bridge since then.     I see the long procession         Still passing to and fro,     The young heart hot and restless,         And the old subdued and slow!     And forever and forever,         As long as the river flows,     As long as the heart has passions,         As long as life has woes;     The moon and its broken reflection         And its shadows shall appear,     As the symbol of love in heaven,         And its wavering image here.