Page:Stevenson - A Child's Garden of Verses (1885).djvu/59



MOOTH it slides upon its travel, Here a wimple, there a gleam— O the clean gravel! O the smooth stream!

Sailing blossoms, silver fishes, Paven pools as clear as air— How a child wishes To live down there!

We can see our coloured faces Floating on the shaken pool Down in cool places, Dim and very cool;

Till a wind or water wrinkle, Dipping marten, plumping trout, Spreads in a twinkle And blots all out.