THE trees bend down along the stream, Where anchored swings my tiny boat. The day is one to drowse and dream And list the thrush's throttling note. When music from his bosom bleeds Among the river's rustling reeds. No ripple stirs the placid pool, When my adventurous line is cast, A truce to sport, while clear and cool, The mirrored clouds slide softly past. The sky gives back a blue divine, And all the world's wide wealth is mine. A pickerel leaps, a bow of light, The minnows shine from side to side. The first faint breeze comes up the tide -- I pause with half uplifted oar, While night drifts down to claim the shore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GULF by KATHERINE MANSFIELD STROLLER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE OLD SQUIRE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT A GIRL'S GARDEN by ROBERT FROST UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES by ROBERT HERRICK PIANO by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE THE WRITER'S JOURNAL: POSSESSION by BAYARD TAYLOR BALLAD by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH VERSES DESIGNED TO BE SENT TO MR. ADAMS by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST |