Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced

Rivers
Many rivers run
Down to many seas
All my cares are one:
On what river of these
Could my heart have peach?
Two banks to each river.
None where I may stray
Hearing the rushes shiver
And seeing the river ever
Pass, yet seem to stay.


Maybe there is another
River, but far in Me.
There I may meet the Brother
Of my eternity:
In what God will this be ?
Nothing; all the leaves, Fallen from the tree.
To what grieves in me.