But astride the crest of a stream as blue
As the star-lit sky; with their arrows true,
Downy, sun-tipped wings and the briefest legs,
Just like dear young ducklings released from eggs.
They are fluttering, splashing in frolic gay,
Whirling here and there in the misty spray;
Now, anon, down dizziest steeps they glide,
All demurely, roguishly, side by side;
In their path, huge bowlders await, but see!
With a somersault they are passed in glee.