You ask me, “Do you think of me?”
Dear, thoughts of thee are like this river,
Which pours itself into the sea,
Yet empties its own channel never.
All other thoughts are like these sail
Drifting the river's surface over;
They veer about with every gale —
The river keeps its course forever.
So deep and still, so strong and true,
The current of my soul sets thee-ward,
Thy river I, my ocean you,
And all myself am running seaward.