MARSH-LANDS
Sure in this spongy and luxuriant retreat—This lovely lyric little marshWhich nothing hath of fierce or harsh,Unhappy fancies to evoke,Where all life is most delicately attuned to sweetMelodious living, here we’ll meetNaiads dainty and discreetWith other watery folkAnd watch the twinkle of their iridescent feet.Upon a reed’s high silver pointWhich early dews anoint,The Red-wing lights and poises, swaying,With throaty and delicious whistle playingPan-music in the mellow morning light.It is like running water’s flowA bit unearthly, and celestial quite—A golden tremolo;And satin robes of air half veil him from our sight.The gay marsh-marigoldDelights its small sun to unfold;And many a bulbous goblin thing,Ugly and grave,Into the dull mud burrowingDraws from some secret treasure-caveAnd to the sunlight heavesGreen breadth—great leavesTo build a vessel floating on an inland wave.We’ll be as busy as the clouds, with naught to do,And we will wonder at the curious striping,In saffron glimpses, of more distant poolsWhich the wind coolsWith deep reflected blue.And we will listen now to Hyla’s piping—A thin small spriteThat one may never seeCalling to the sky his clear delightFilled with insatiate and unbounded ecstasy.
Sure in this spongy and luxuriant retreat—This lovely lyric little marshWhich nothing hath of fierce or harsh,Unhappy fancies to evoke,Where all life is most delicately attuned to sweetMelodious living, here we’ll meetNaiads dainty and discreetWith other watery folkAnd watch the twinkle of their iridescent feet.Upon a reed’s high silver pointWhich early dews anoint,The Red-wing lights and poises, swaying,With throaty and delicious whistle playingPan-music in the mellow morning light.It is like running water’s flowA bit unearthly, and celestial quite—A golden tremolo;And satin robes of air half veil him from our sight.The gay marsh-marigoldDelights its small sun to unfold;And many a bulbous goblin thing,Ugly and grave,Into the dull mud burrowingDraws from some secret treasure-caveAnd to the sunlight heavesGreen breadth—great leavesTo build a vessel floating on an inland wave.We’ll be as busy as the clouds, with naught to do,And we will wonder at the curious striping,In saffron glimpses, of more distant poolsWhich the wind coolsWith deep reflected blue.And we will listen now to Hyla’s piping—A thin small spriteThat one may never seeCalling to the sky his clear delightFilled with insatiate and unbounded ecstasy.
Sure in this spongy and luxuriant retreat—This lovely lyric little marshWhich nothing hath of fierce or harsh,Unhappy fancies to evoke,Where all life is most delicately attuned to sweetMelodious living, here we’ll meetNaiads dainty and discreetWith other watery folkAnd watch the twinkle of their iridescent feet.
Sure in this spongy and luxuriant retreat—
This lovely lyric little marsh
Which nothing hath of fierce or harsh,
Unhappy fancies to evoke,
Where all life is most delicately attuned to sweet
Melodious living, here we’ll meet
Naiads dainty and discreet
With other watery folk
And watch the twinkle of their iridescent feet.
Upon a reed’s high silver pointWhich early dews anoint,The Red-wing lights and poises, swaying,With throaty and delicious whistle playingPan-music in the mellow morning light.It is like running water’s flowA bit unearthly, and celestial quite—A golden tremolo;And satin robes of air half veil him from our sight.
Upon a reed’s high silver point
Which early dews anoint,
The Red-wing lights and poises, swaying,
With throaty and delicious whistle playing
Pan-music in the mellow morning light.
It is like running water’s flow
A bit unearthly, and celestial quite—
A golden tremolo;
And satin robes of air half veil him from our sight.
The gay marsh-marigoldDelights its small sun to unfold;And many a bulbous goblin thing,Ugly and grave,Into the dull mud burrowingDraws from some secret treasure-caveAnd to the sunlight heavesGreen breadth—great leavesTo build a vessel floating on an inland wave.
The gay marsh-marigold
Delights its small sun to unfold;
And many a bulbous goblin thing,
Ugly and grave,
Into the dull mud burrowing
Draws from some secret treasure-cave
And to the sunlight heaves
Green breadth—great leaves
To build a vessel floating on an inland wave.
We’ll be as busy as the clouds, with naught to do,And we will wonder at the curious striping,In saffron glimpses, of more distant poolsWhich the wind coolsWith deep reflected blue.And we will listen now to Hyla’s piping—A thin small spriteThat one may never seeCalling to the sky his clear delightFilled with insatiate and unbounded ecstasy.
We’ll be as busy as the clouds, with naught to do,
And we will wonder at the curious striping,
In saffron glimpses, of more distant pools
Which the wind cools
With deep reflected blue.
And we will listen now to Hyla’s piping—
A thin small sprite
That one may never see
Calling to the sky his clear delight
Filled with insatiate and unbounded ecstasy.