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,

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