'There is a great river this side of Stygia
Before one comes to the first black cataracts
And trees that lack the intelligence of trees.
'In that river, far this side of Stygia,
The mere flowing of the water is a gayety,
Flashing and flashing in the sun. On its banks,
'No shadow walks. The river is fateful,
Like the last one. But there is no ferryman.
He could not bend against its propelling force.''
-- From "The River of Rivers in Connecticut,'' by Wallace Stevens.
