The mighty river flowing dark and deep, With ebb and flood from the remote sea-tides Vague-sounding through the City's sleepless sleep, Is named the River of the Suicides;For night by night some lorn wretch overweary, 5And shuddering from the future yet more dreary, Within its cold secure oblivion hides.

One plunges from a bridge's parapet, As if by some blind and sudden frenzy hurled;Another wades in slow with purpose set 10Until the waters are above him furled;

Another in a boat with dreamlike motion Glides drifting down into the desert ocean, To starve or sink from out the desert world.

They perish from their suffering surely thus, 15For none beholding them attempts to save, The while thinks how soon, solicitous, He may seek refuge in the self-same wave;Some hour when tired of ever-vain endurance Impatience will forerun the sweet assurance 20Of perfect peace eventual in the grave.

When this poor tragic-farce has palled us long, Why actors and spectators do we stay?--To fill our so-short roles out right or wrong;To see what shifts are yet in the dull play 25For our illusion; to refrain from grieving Dear foolish friends by our untimely leaving:

But those asleep at home, how blest are they!

Yet it is but for one night after all:

What matters one brief night of dreary pain? 30When after it the weary eyelids fall Upon the weary eyes and wasted brain;And all sad scenes and thoughts and feelings vanish In that sweet sleep no power can ever banish, That one best sleep which never wakes again.35