Sunset-hued and tame or wild,

Fill my soul with such surmise

As the mind might realize

If our thoughts, all undefiled,

Should take form before our eyes.

So to me do these appeal;

So they sway me every hour:

Letting all their beauty steal

On my soul to make it feel,

Through a rivulet or flower,

More than any words reveal.

5

 He speaks, rowing.

See, sweetheart, how the lilies lay

Their lambent leaves about our way;

Or, pollen-dusty, nod and float

Their moon-like flowers around our boat.—

The middle of the stream we've reached

Three strokes from where our boat was beached.

Look up. You scarce can see the sky,

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