Mocking, slender, leafy laughter,
Why her finger tips were cold:
“I went down to tease the brook,
With her fishes, there below;
She comes dancing, thou must know,
And the bushes arch above her;
But the seeking sunbeams look,
Dodging, through the wind-blown cover,
Find and kiss her into stars.
Silvery veins entwine and crook