  To sit by a silent stream, Watching water-lilies dream: While breezes winnow The floating seeds, And the aery minnow Weaves his wavy web among the reeds. Where a fallen sycamore Whitely arches a pathway o'er, And shadows darkle The lambent cool, As, softly a-sparkle. Sunbeams arrow lightnings thro the pool. Where the everlasting's breath Odors mysteries of death. Where iron-weeds, rusted Leaf and pod, By insects dusted, Rustle—then in autumn sadness nod. To sit ... till every sense Lose thought of whither and whence; Till earth and heaven And faith and fate No longer leaven Life, with hope or fear, or love or hate. |
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