Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/118



I am sailing to the leeward, Where the current runs to seaward Soft and slow, Where the sleeping river grasses Brush my paddle as it passes To and fro.

On the shore the heat is shaking All the golden sands awaking In the cove; And the quaint sand-piper, winging O'er the shallows, ceases singing When I move.

On the water's idle pillow Sleeps the overhanging willow, Green and cool; Where the rushes lift their burnished Oval heads from out the tarnished Emerald pool.

Where the very silence slumbers, Water lilies grow in numbers, Pure and pale; All the morning they have rested, Amber crowned, and pearly crested, Fair and frail.