Here where the wayward stream Is restful as a dream, And where the banks o'erlook A pool from out whose deeps My pleased face upward peeps, I cast my hook.
Silence and sunshine blent! - A Sabbath-like content Of wood and wave; -a free- Hand landscape grandly wrought Of Summer's brightest thought And mastery. -
For here form, light and shade, And color-all are laid With skill so rarely fine, The eye may even see The ripple tremblingly Lip at the line.
I mark the dragon-fly Flit waveringly by In ever-veering flight, Till, in a hush profound, I see him eddy round The "cork," and-'light!
Ho! with the boy's faith then Brimming my heart again, And knowing, soon or late, The "nibble" yet shall roll Its thrills along the pole, I-breathless-wait.
End of title
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