At the Falls - A poem by Ellen P. Allerton

At the Falls.

In this deep solitude, amid the roar
Of falling waters, and soft folds of spray,
I sit upon the green and sedgy shore
Sit silent, while the river rolls away.

What heed I here the hollow masquerade
That men call life? It surely heeds not me:
I am not missed from the gay cavalcade
None whisper, "This was her place, where is she?"

Little I reck! The page upon my knee
Talks honestly, and yon white waterfall
Pours a deep voice of truth unceasingly,
While the gay world is but a masquer's ball.

^__Ellen P. Allerton.