That would not open in the early light,
Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet’s pool,
That darkly quivered all the morning long
In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun,
And o’er its surface shoots, and shoots again,
The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within
Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.
A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,
Reigns o’er the fields; the laborer sits within
His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,