I
The lady Lillian knelt upon the sward,
Between the arbour and the almond leaves;
Beyond, the barley gathered into sheaves;
A blade of gladiolus, like a sword,
Flamed fierce against the gold; and down toward
The limpid west, a pallid poplar wove
A spell of shadow; through the meadow drove
A deep unbroken brook without a ford.
A fountain flung and poised a golden ball;
On the soft grass a frosted serpent lay,
With oval spots of opal over all;
Upon the basin’s edge within the spray,
Lulled by some craft of laughter in the fall,
An ancient crow dreamed hours and hours away.