When silver moonbeams would reflect themselves,

A miracle of colour and of light,

Full in the rush of hasting waterdrops,

The boy could spend beside the rock-born spring

Hour after hour, till spirit-shapes appeared

Before the vision of the youthful seer

Where moonbeams shivered on the falling drops.

They grew to be three forms in woman’s shape,

Who spoke to him about those things in which

His yearning soul made known its interest.