From the Cascades' frozen gorges,
⁠Leaping like a child at play,
Winding, widening through the valley,
⁠Bright Willamette glides away;
⁠⁠Onward ever,
⁠⁠Lovely River,
Softly calling to the sea,
⁠⁠Time, that scars us,
⁠⁠Maims and mars us,
Leaves no track or trench on thee.

Spring's green witchery is weaving
⁠Braid and border for thy side;
Grace forever haunts thy journey,
Beauty dimples on thy tide;
Through the purple gates of morning
⁠Now thy roseate ripples dance,
Golden then, when day, departing,
⁠On thy waters trails his lance.
⁠⁠Waltzing, flashing,
⁠⁠Tinkling, splashing,
Limpid, volatile, and free--
⁠⁠Always hurried
⁠⁠To be buried
In the bitter, moon-mad sea.