With leaves overhead like an arbour,
I smoke, and I ponder, and dream.
The bank, with its rough broken edges,
Exists as in days now remote;
There's still the faint savour of sedges
And lilies fresh crushed by the boat.
O, breezes are soft, and the dreamer receives
The rarest refrain from the music of leaves!
A brown-eyed and trustful young maiden
Then steered this identical skiff,