Down yon dusk-pool, slant, obliquely, shoots a line like sparry splinter,
As the waking flush of spring-time lightens up the eyes in winter:
Dimming as it straineth downward melts the red light of the sun,
Darkling pool and piercing beamlet mingling whitely into one.
Fallen rays, like broken crystals, spangle thick the shadowy ground,
Ragged fragments, glorious gushes scattered richly, redly round.
Where the lazy lilies languish, one intruding sunbeam creeps;
In the arms of slumberous shadow, like a child it sinks and sleeps;
And the quiet leaves around it seem to think it all their own,
’Mid the grass and lightened lilies sleeping silent and alone.