Niagra
By John B. Tabb
Where echo ne’er hath found
A footing on the steep,
Descends, without a sound,
The cataract of sleep.
Like swallows in the spray,
When evening is near,
The thronging thoughts of day
About the brink appear;
Till greets a heaven below
A sister heaven above,
Alike with stars aglow
Of unextinguished love.
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