From the blades, the crystal deep

Of the silence of the morn,

Of the forest yet asleep,

And the river reaches borne

In a mirror, purple grey,

Sheer away

To the misty line of light,

Where the forest and the stream

In the shadow meet and plight,

Like a dream.

From amid a stretch of reeds,

Where the lazy river sucks

All the water as it bleeds

From a little curling creek,

And the muskrats peer and sneak

In around the sunken wrecks

Of a tree that swept the skies

Long ago,

On a sudden seven ducks

With a splashy rustle rise,

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