To the Connecticut River
by Sarone Peabody Roemer
Flanked on each side by heights of varied green
You run your crooked course in sun and shade –
The hills reflected in your heart are seen
And record of their classic beauty made;
Seen at your source one wouldn’t ever dream
The mighty tasks you are each day to do,
Industries wheels to turn, and yet I deem
Such work was not designed for streams like you;
In early days, the Redman’s skiff of bark
Made from the birch, whose mates adorn these hills,
Swept o’er your breast with grace of meadow lark
Whose gladsome song man’s senses ever thrills.
Flow on glad stream, on work or pleasure bent,
While grave Ascutney watches you and smiles consent.