Sure in this spongy and luxuriant retreat—

This lovely lyric little marsh

Which nothing hath of fierce or harsh,

Unhappy fancies to evoke,

Where all life is most delicately attuned to sweet

Melodious living, here we’ll meet

Naiads dainty and discreet

With other watery folk

And watch the twinkle of their iridescent feet.

Upon a reed’s high silver point

Which early dews anoint,

The Red-wing lights and poises, swaying,

With throaty and delicious whistle playing

Pan-music in the mellow morning light.

It is like running water’s flow

A bit unearthly, and celestial quite—

A golden tremolo;

And satin robes of air half veil him from our sight.

The gay marsh-marigold

Delights its small sun to unfold;

And many a bulbous goblin thing,

Ugly and grave,

Into the dull mud burrowing

Draws from some secret treasure-cave

And to the sunlight heaves

Green breadth—great leaves

To build a vessel floating on an inland wave.