The unresting wind lashes and chills
Its shivering ripples ceaselessly.
Three sides ’tis banked with stones aslant,
And down the fourth the rushes grow,
And yellow sedge fringing the edge
With lengthen’d image all arow.
’Tis square and black, and on its face
When noon is still, the mirror’d sky
Looks dark and further from the earth
Than when you gaze at it on high.