The lake is blue with morning; and the sky Sweet, clear, and burnished as an orient pearl. High in its vastness, scream and skim and whirl White gull-flocks where the gleaming beaches die Into dim distance, where great marshes lie. Far in ashore the woods are warm with dreams, The dew-wet road in ruddy sunlight gleams, The sweet, cool earth, the clear blue heaven on high. Across the morn a carolling school-boy goes, Filling the world with youth to heaven’s stair; Some chattering squirrel answers from his tree; But down beyond the headland, where ice-floes Are great in winter, pleading in mute prayer, A dead, drowned face stares up immutably.
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