T.S. Eliot
Virginia
Red river, red river
Slow flow heat is silence
No will is still as a river
Still, Will heat move
Only through the mocking-bird
Heard once? Still hills
Wait. Gates wait. Purple trees
White trees, wait, wait
Delay, decay. Living, living
Never moving. Ever moving
Iron thoughts came with me
And go with me:
Red river, river, river