Driftwood gathered here and there
Along the beach of time;
Now and then a chip of truth
‘ Mid boards and boughs of rhyme;
Driftwood gathered day by day,—
The cypress and the oak,—
Twigs that in some former time
From sturdy home trees broke.
Did this wood come floating thick
All along down “Injin Crik?”
Or did kind tides bring it thee
From the past's receding sea
Down the stream of memory?