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 MASK by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI: 4. THE MOON'S ORCHESTRA by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER THE BUGLER'S FIRST COMMUNION by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE LOVE SONG by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE THE SONG OF THE BEASTS by RUPERT BROOKE ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE'S BRAINS by ROBERT BURNS |