E’en now the buds are growing old, all on the boughs atop,
And then to-morrow—who can tell?—the drizzling rain may drop.”
V.
We’ve picked enow; the topmost bough is bare of leaves; and so
We lift our brimming loads, and by the homeward path we go;
In merry laughter by the pool, the lotus pool, we hie,
When hark! uprise a mallard pair, and hence affrighted fly.
VI.
Limpid and clear the pool, and there how rich the lotus grows,
And only half its opening leaves, round as the coins, it shows—