Slowly, boatman, slowly go;
Swift the leafy currents flow,
And I cannot see or know
What beyond yon dark wood waits,
Drifting toward the Cypress Gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
We have passed funereal glooms,
Cypress caverns, haunted rooms,
Halls of gray moss starred with blooms -
Slowly, slowly in these straits,
Drifting toward the Cypress Gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
In the towers of green o'erhead
Watch the vultures for the dead,
And below the egrets red
Eye the mossy pools like fates,
In the shadowy Cypress Gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
Clouds of palm crowns lie behind,
Clouds of gray moss in the wind,
Crumbling oaks with jessamines twined,
Where the ring-doves meet their mates,
Cooing in the Cypress Gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
High the silver ibis flies —
Silver wings in silver skies;
In the sun the saurian lies;
Comes the mocking-bird and prates
To the boatmen at the gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
Nearer now, we're drawing near,
Naught but cypresses appear.
Hark, what song is that I hear!
'Tis a bird that love elates —
Some sweet bird beyond the gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
Slowly — awful shades are these!
Seas of mosses, seas of trees!
Currents viewless as the breeze;
Half the boat is in the straits,
Half is through the Cypress Gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
On — the sunlight drops a ray!
On — the current knows the way!
On — the bird still sings its lay,
And a sun-flood fills the straits; —
Shadows — shadows — were the gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
Lo! a shower of golden rain!
Lo! the ibis flies again!
Runs the river toward the main.
Fades the dark air, fade the straits,
Fade the unlocked Cypress Gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
Now the broader waters gleam —
Seems my voyage upon the stream
Like a semblance or a dream,
And the dream my soul elates;
Life flows through the Cypress Gates
Like the Ocklawaha.
Will the ibis fly again?
Will the ring-dove sigh again?
Sunsets fall in golden rain?
Boatman, boatman, what awaits
Us beyond the Cypress Gates
Of Life's Ocklawaha?
Boatman, boatman, oft I hear
Falling, falling on my ear,
One sweet voice that once was dear;
And I think God's love awaits
My poor faith beyond the gates
Of the Ocklawaha.
Ibis, thou wilt fly again,
Ring-dove thou wilt sigh again,
Jessamines bloom in golden rain;
And a loving song-bird waits
Me beyond the Cypress Gates
Of the Ocklawaha.