O the clean gravel!
O the smooth stream!
Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
Pave pools as clear as air–
How a child wishes
To live down there!
We can see our colored 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.
See the rings pursue each other;
All below grows black as night,
Just as if mother
Had blown out the light!
Patience, children, just a minute–
See the spreading circles die;
The stream and all in it
Will clear by-and-by.