Leon Gellert - The River

Swift with the dawn she rises, quick and cold,
Rattling the pebbles with her silver shoon,
Chasing a thousand fish of instant gold,
And racing into noon.

But in the night so tired at having tracked
Her great sea-lover to his sounding lair;
Down from the shoulders of her cataract,
She loosens all her hair.

Leon Gellert

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-river-45/