Green growths of mosses drip and bead
⁠Around the granite brink;
And 'twixt the isles of water-weed
⁠The wood-birds dip and drink;

Slow efts about the edges sleep;
⁠Swift-darting water-flies
Shoot on the surface; down the deep
⁠Dark fishes gloom and rise.

Who knows what lurks beneath the tide?
⁠Who knows what tale? Belike
Those "antres vast" and shadows hide
⁠Some patriarchal pike —

Some tough old tyrant, wrinkled-jawed,
⁠For whom the sky, the earth,
Have but for aim to look on awed,
⁠And watch him wax in girth —

Hard monarch there, by right of might,
⁠An ageless autocrat,
Whose "good old rule" is "Appetite,
⁠And subjects fresh and fat;"

While they — poor things —in wan despair
⁠Still hope for years in him,
And, dying, hand from heir to heir
⁠The day undawned and dim,

When the pond’s terror too must go;
⁠Or, creeping in by stealth,
A bolder race, at one fell blow,
⁠Shall found a commonwealth.

Who knows? Meanwhile the mosses bead
⁠Around the granite brink,
And 'twixt the isles of water-weed
⁠The wood-birds dip and drink.

A lovely smile, which smiled in sadness,
⁠Once hailed upon the passing breeze
A new-born sigh, which sighed in gladness
⁠To give a restless mortal ease.

The smile and sigh soon formed a union —
⁠A union everlasting, blest —
Whereby, in brotherly communion,
⁠Each worked to give the other rest.

Thus, mutually their toils relieving,
⁠They lived in peaceful light and shade;
No petty jealousies conceiving,
⁠Of nought, not even death, afraid.

And when, with friendship still unbroken,
⁠Fate caused them for a time to part,
Each of the other kept a token,
⁠To prove the two were one at heart.

For, smiling, the sigh to Heaven was carried
⁠On angels' golden wings one day,
While, sighing, the smile on earth still tarried,
⁠And lent its charm to lifeless clay.

Till then, this world was often dreary,
⁠But since then (so the legend saith),
Death's sigh gives life unto the weary,
⁠Life's smile itself illumines death.

Do you know my sweetheart, sir?
⁠She has fled and gone away.
I’ve lost my love; pray tell to me
⁠Have you seen her pass to-day?

Dewy bluebells are her eyes;
⁠Golden corn her waving hair;
Her cheeks are of the sweet blush-roses:
⁠Have you seen this maiden fair?

White lilies are her neck, sir;
⁠And her breath the eglantine;
Her rosy lips the red carnations:
⁠Such is she, this maiden mine.

The light wind is her laughter;
⁠The murmuring brooks her song;
Her tears, so full of tender pity,
⁠In the clouds are borne along.

The sunbeams are her smiles;
⁠The leaves her footsteps light;
To kiss each coy flower into life
⁠Is my true love’s delight.

I will tell ye who she is,
⁠And how all things become her.
Bend down, that I may whisper,
⁠My sweetheart’s name is — "Summer."

O, sweet and true, I hold your little hand,
⁠And gaze down into eyes so bright and clear,
They seem to hold the summer's radiance, grand
⁠With all the golden promise of the year.

I see in them the rest that wnnter gave,
⁠And bud and blossom of the glorious spring,
The shim'ring light where summer cornfields wave,
⁠And autumn’s stores that will such gladness bring.

How can I see all these, you ask? Ah, sweet,
⁠Love holds for us all life can give to prize;
It makes its glory rounded and complete,
⁠And love for me I see, dear, in your eyes.