  Though summer long delayeth Her blue and golden boon, Yet now at length she stayeth Her wings above the noon; She sets the waters dreaming To murmurous leafy tones, The weeded waters gleaming Above the stepping-stones. Where fern and ivied willow Lean o’er the seaward brook, I read a volume mellow— A poet’s fairy-book; The seaward brook is narrow, The hazel spans its pride, And like a painted arrow The king-bird keeps the tide. |
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