Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced...

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.