What sayest thou, Oh shadow, That from the dreaming hill All down the broadening valley Liest so sharp and still? And thou, Oh murmuring brooklet, Whereby in the noonday gleam [6] The loosestrife burns like ruby, And the branchèd asters dream? "We are born, we are reared, and we linger A various space and die; We dream and are very happy, But we cannot answer why." And then of myself I questioned, That like a ghost the while Stood from me and calmly answered, With slow and curious smile: "Thou art born as the flowers, and wilt linger Thine own short space and die; Thou dream'st and art strangely happy,