From a Bridge Car

River inscrutable, river mysterious,
     Mornings or evenings, in gray skies or blue,
Thousands of toilers in gay mood or serious,
     Workward and homeward have gazed upon you.

Swirling or sluggish, but ever inscrutable,
     Sparkling or oily, but never the same;
You, like the city, mysterious, mutable,
     Tremble with passions which no on can name.